All Or Nothing
by Glimmer Conlon O'Leary
Summary: -FINISHED!-There's nowhere left to fall when you reach the bottom; it's now or never. Is it all, or are we just friends? Is this how it ends, you leave me here with nothing at all?
1. Prologue

We were brought together through sheer coincidence.   
  
Or so I thought. I didn't know that we had been together through thick and thin, through good times and bad. I didn't know we had been together since the beginning of time.  
  
I didn't know we were meant to be. Neither did he. Now that he's changed, it seems as if there's nothng I can do to win him.   
  
But if fate brought us together...How come it's keeping us apart?  
  
Are we meant to be? Really?   
  
Or is it too late, is he too different, am I too different?  
  
Can we make it?  
  
There is no in between. No half-way. No almost. It's All Or Nothing 


	2. In The Beginning

All Or Nothing  
  
There's nowhere left to fall when you reach the bottom; it's now or never. Is it all, or are we just friends? Is this how it ends, you leave me here with nothing at all? I've waited forever, and I'll wait until eternity, but I want you now, in this life. Don't you understand?  
Not anything to do with O-Town, I swear, or even the song. But I was listening to it, and it seemed to be a nice summary, or at least the first half of a summary. "All Or Nothing'" was written for O-Town by Steve Mac and Wayne Hector, and is performed by Ashley Parker Angel, Erik-Michael Estrada, Daniel Miller, Jacob Underwood, and Trevor Penick. I don't own anything Newsies, save for the heart of everyone of them....*Grin* Newsies is owned by Disney.  
Enjoy!  
Glimmer Conlon O'Leary  
Eight year-old Cole Conlon smiled at the small, petite girl just his age who frolicked by him. Little did he know that his broad, white-toothed smile would someday become a hard, smoldering smirk.   
  
Katherine Redding flashed Cole a smile as she scurried past him like an antelope romping through the green grass. Her long, flowing blonde hair streamed behind her like a banner as she ran.   
  
Katherine had the most beautiful hair anyone who had ever laid eyes upon the child had ever seen. Highlighted with lighter, white-blonde streaks, courtesy of hours in the country sun, the golden blonde mane was not thin and scraggly as was usual of country bumpkins, but thick and strong. It shone in the sunlight as if a million fireflies had decided to nest in her hair and come alive in the daylight.  
  
The rest of her appearance did not fit in well with her hair. A plain-faced, pale little girl, her green eyes were so light they seemed to have no color, no hue, no shade. Her eyebrows were nearly transparent, and matched her nearly-clear eyelashes. Her face didn't have enough color, no blush, no flush. Only her nose carried a shocking splash of light, soft pink, as if someone had shoved only that part of her face into the snow and left it there to gather the blood of cold.   
  
She was a simple-faced child alright, not much to look at, but her hair...  
  
"Cole! Cole look!" Her small voice rang out, souding off with the self-sartisfied chirp of a baby bird calling for its sibling to watch it fly.  
  
Cole looked out from under the maple tree where he lounged, inspecting the shaded ground beneath him. When the phrase met his ears a second time, he grumbled good-naturedly as he picked himself off the ground.  
  
"What Katie?" He called as he neared the sound of her voice.  
  
"Look Cole! Isn't it wondrous?" she asked, pointing. Cole looked.   
  
He didn't see anything particulary wondrous, only the green, lush grass that grew everywhere.  
  
"What's wondrous here?" He asked, frowning at the ground, his voice leaning into the word 'wondrous' as if he didn't believe it existed.  
  
Katie sighed and threw herself toward the ground, latching onto Cole's hand, pulling him along with her.  
  
Once they were both crouched on the hot grass, the sun beating down on them, Katie reached one of her small hands toward the ground and picked something up in them.  
  
"Look Cole!" She exclaimed, thrusting her cupped hands toward him.  
  
Cole stared. As he looked down on the object in Katie's hands, his light brown hair fell onto his forehead. Shaking it away impatiently, he looked into her eyes, slightly confused, and altogether not feeling 'wondrous'.  
  
As he stared her in the face, his blue-green eyes sparkling, Katie smiled a slow grin.  
  
"It's a caterpillar, Katherine," He said stiffly, as if informing her that the Earth was indeed round.   
  
"I know Cole! Isn't it beautiful?" She beamed as she looked down on the small furry worm-like creature in her hands.  
  
Copper colored and black striped, the caterpillar didn't seem all-too thrilled to be held in a little girl's hot sweaty hands.  
  
"Not...Really..." Cole said, turning his head sideways, struggling to find the enthrallment that Katie seemed to be feeling.  
  
But Katie didn't seem fazed. She released the now flailing caterpillar and walked back over to Cole's tree, pulling her companion with her.  
  
"I had another dream last night Cole," she said smilingly.   
  
At this, Cole's glittering eyes lit up. Katie had the best dreams, dreams of her and a face-less male friend doing the most entertaining things. Cole himself and Katie had developed many humorous games based on those innocent, carefree dreams that seemed to have full control over their lives.  
  
"Did he have a face?" Cole asked her the question he always asked before she launched into her latest dream.  
  
"Not yet," Katie began, "but one day, he will." She always said that.   
  
"How old were you?" Another routine question popped out of his mouth.  
  
"Eight Cole. We were both eight. Like you and me are now," She rolled her nearly achromatic green eyes at him.  
  
"And th--"   
  
"Cole!"   
  
"Okay go."  
  
"Okay. Well, we were in a cold place. I don't know where. But there was a stone grey castle behind us, and we were playing in the leaves that were falling from the maples. You should have seen my dress Cole! It was white like snow, and the skirt puffed!" Puffed rolled off her tongue and through her lips like velvet, as if nothing more beautiful could be fathomed.  
  
"And it was so cold with the wind blowing, but he dug into the pile of leaves we had made, looking for something. I asked him what he was doing, but he didn't say anything. He just threw the leaves away and away, and they caught me in the face and fell on my dress. I looked back at the castle, and a beautiful woman came out, wearing the most prettiest maid's outfit I've ever seen in any of my dreams Cole! It was frilly, and...and...  
  
"And she stood nearby, not saying anything. But the boy, he dug and dug and dug. And finally, after I'd been waiting for him for what seemed like forever, he straightened. The pile of leaves was gone, but the leaves that had been in it were everywhere! And he had dirt and mud and leaves all down his front too!   
  
"But he turned toward me, and I tried to look into his eyes, but they weren't there. None of his face was. It was the same as it always is, it feels like this time, I'll know who he is, but when I look at him, his face just blurs until I can only see the colors. I know that his eyes are the same colors as yours, Cole, but....I can't look into them."  
  
She paused here, just breathing. Cole didn't dare make a sound. When she told him her dreams, she told him alone, no one else, not even Beth and Jacob. But if he made so much as a peep, she would jerk out of her reverie and clam up.  
  
"But in his hands was a caterpillar, copper and black. And fuzzy, oh-so fuzzy. He had dug to the ground and pulled out that delightful creature for me. Just for me."  
  
Katie had a love of small creatures that most people turned their noses up to, or didn't give a second glance. Cole knew that a boy digging into a pile of cold, wet leaves for her would be the best thing that boy could ever possibly do.  
  
"And the woman came out further into the garden, and she called to us to come in. 'Katherine!' She called to me, but as she called to him, his name was lost on the wind that picked up, howling. And so we went into the castle. Oh, how I wish I could just know his name, see his face. Even just his eyes."  
  
At this, she looked away from the leaves of the maple and back at him, which Cole knew was his cue to take her hand and lead her home.  
  
Home was a simple, tidy farmhouse in the middle of the lovely expanse they lived in. Beth came through the doorway as they approached, her top-heavy body tied into an apron.   
  
"Children! Supper is ready!" She called, hands on her wide hips. She smiled as the children picked up their pace at the thought of her food.  
  
"Jacob!" She called, louder still, to a man bent over a fence, mending it. He straightened, looking at her. "Supper!" she said one more time before turning back into the house.  
  
As she gazed at the children, Cole, a handsome young boy with his tanned skin, dewy complexion, full lips, light brown hair and sparkling blue-green eyes; overshadowed small Katie. For as much as she may have been beautiful to the people who loved her, she looked like nothing more than a mouse with amazing hair next to Cole.  
  
As Beth pulled out dishes and utensils, she remembered the nights when she had found the children.   
  
Katherine had been discovered as a baby, left on the doorstep of the old, caring couple one warm summer night. A note bearing the name "Katherine Redding" had been tucked into the blanket in which she had been so carefully wrapped, along with the words, mispelled and sloppily written, as though the writer has just learned to write, "Tayk kare of her. Plees."  
  
Cole had been found by Katherine when she was around 3. The little girl had been running clumsily around the farm, under the watchful eyes of Beth, when she had run into the barn.  
  
"Beth! Beth! Look!" The small toddler's voice had carried to the doorway of the barn, where Beth had followed Katie.   
  
"What is it, dear?" The old woman had asked, coming closer. Katie had jumped up and down, pointing to the bale of hay.  
  
Curiosity overtaking her senses, Beth had crept forward. There, lying in the bale of hay, was a boy.   
  
The boy seemed to be about Katie's age, and Beth couldn't tell if he was dead or just sleeping. Her heart pounding in her ears, Beth had stepped hesitantly toward the little boy. As his little chest rose and fell with his breaths, Beth let out her own held breath.  
  
She still remembered how, after waking him up, she had looked into the tiny boy's remarkably beautiful eyes and asked him if he knew his name. He drew himself up out of the hay and said proudly, "Cole Conlon."  
  
And so from then on, the two children had been inseperable. They played with one another, giggled, laughed, and yes, occasionally fought.   
  
There was just something about the way they looked at one another. Cole seemed to be too handsome, too attractive for Katie, yet he protected her with everything he had in him.  
  
When they went to town on Market Day, all the little boys would run off and play, and Cole would run with them. But if anyone, anywhere, ever threatened his precious Katie, he would come scampering back as if Katie had somehow told him--nevermind how far apart they may have been--that she needed him.  
  
Beth heard them talking late into the night, upstairs in the attic in the full bed they shared. Odd, she thought, how Katie would talk and talk and talk to Cole, but whenever anyone else was around, even herself or Jacob, she would shut her mouth and barely say a word.  
  
At ten, Katie and Cole's relationship was flourishing more than previosuly believed. They still talked, still played, and still slept in the same bed. Katherine was an innocent child, and Cole, however learned he was from hanging around the older boys in town, would never take advantage of his sweet Katie.  
  
At thirteen, Cole was more handsome than Beth could have ever imagined he could have become. His hair shagged into his eyes, his skin, still tan, carried no imperfections, and his dark blue-green eyes glimmered with an intensity that seemed to grow each time Beth looked at him. He was a beautiful young man.  
  
Katie's hair, even longer now, swirled about her arms as she worked that day in town. It was market day again. Katie was there with Cole and Jacob only, as Beth had stayed home that day with promises of an amazing supper that night.  
  
Katie looked about the town, at the girls she knew to be her own age. They were filling out, their hips getting wider as their waists shrunk. Their chests expanded, filling out their dresses in a way that made even Cole, HER Cole, stare.  
  
But Katie had nothing. Her hips were not distinguishable from her waist, her thighs had no dimension, and her chest was as flat as a board. That along with her pale, almost creepy green eyes, and her even paler face, she was nothing to look at, and those simple facts didn't make Katie a popular choice for young men.  
  
Not that she wanted them anyway. All she wanted was Cole to take care of her for the rest of her life.  
  
'But Katherine, one day he'll go off and get married, leaving you alone and lonely.' She reminded herself somewhat bitterly. But as she looked at him, at the young women her age who flocked around him, taller than him, her heart filled with distaste.  
  
"He is MINE," She muttered under her breath, and as she did, her green eyes deepened slightly before returning to their normal color, if you could call it a color exactly.  
  
At thirteen, their lives changed forever. It all started when Jacob got hurt.  
  
One day he was rethatching the roof, when the heavens opened up and the rain fell. Not a light, summer rain, but an April thunderstorm, complete with winds and rain like bullets. The rain drenched the world in mere seconds, and as Jacob moved to climb onto his rickety wooded ladder, he slipped on the many leaves on the rooftop. Eyes wide, arms flailing, he slid off the tall farmhouse and landed with a sickening crunch on the ground below.  
  
Lying on his back, unable to move, Jacob saw, in blurs, the hair of an angel. Long, blonde hair encirlcled him. He looked up, his vision clearing, and saw the mousy face of Katie.   
  
"Tell Beth I love her," He managed to murmur.   
  
Katie, regardless of how scared she was, found it hard to believe that someone could die of that fall. Suddenly it hit her how old Jacob was. At least in his seventies, he was near ancient, most people didn't even live as long as this.   
  
Looking down upon his form, it also smacked her in the face how frail he was. How...skinny.  
  
Beth came flying out of the house like a bat out of hell, Cole hot on her heels,and rushed over to where Jacob lay. In an unusual unaffectionate manner, she pushed Katie out of the way and kneeled next to her husband.  
  
"Jacob? Jacob?" She questioned frantically, her eyes tearing, or mayhap it was merely the pounding rain.   
  
"I love you," He said, before the pain overtook his heart and it stopped. Dead. If only a doctor had been present, maybe the old man would have lived. But probably not. A heart attack struck him as he lay, which was really the cause of his death. Old age, injury, and a heart attack killed off one of the sweetest, most hardworking men ever to grace the planet.  
  
And that was only the beginning of the troubles that plagued the two teens.  
  
After Jacob's funeral service, Beth stopped eating, stopped cooking, stopped -living-. Katie was never a master chef, but Cole couldn't cook anything edible. Things unedible he could cook just fine, such as shoes.   
  
Once, when the children were eleven, Cole, angered at Katie's constant badgering for him to finish his chores so she could tell him her latest dream; dodged inside the house, grabbed Katie's only spare pair of shoes, and threw them into the fire that blazed on the hearth.  
  
Katie's mouth dropped open as she came inside to see Cole standing, arms folded, a young, fresh, not-yet-polished smirk on his face.   
  
But to his surprise, she didn't yell, did not hit, didn't even scowl. She stared at him, her mouth open.  
  
"Katie?" He asked, mysitfied, and slightly dissapointed, at her reaction.  
  
"That's what...He did. In my dream," she sputtered, pointing to the shoes now melting in the fire, stinking up the kitchen.  
  
"He? The...Faceless kid?" Not understaning, Cole merely followed as Katie walked out of the house, and back to that same maple.  
  
"We were eleven, Cole, so don't ask," she began, as soon as they were settled in the shade.  
  
Cole shrugged, smirking his new-found expression. "Wasn't gonna," he saids simply, though he would have had she not began before him.  
  
"We were in the castle. He was helping his mother in the kitchen as she was cooking for my family's big party. I had taken my shoes off as I sat down on the stool to watch. I thought I could help, but I think I did more damage distracting him than I did to help. But I liked to listen to the servants tell their stories, especially his mother.  
  
"But that day, there was too much work to be done for stories. So I made up my own. Dreadful things, they were, no point, or rhyme or reason to them." Katie laughed at the memory of a dream, which always seemed like more than a dream; they seemed to be a part of her, but she couldn't place why.   
  
"He kept telling me to shut my mouth. When I didn't he picked up one of my shoes from the floor and told me if I didn't shut up on the spot he'd throw it in the fire.   
  
"I laughed at him, and he threw it behind him, where it headed straight for the flames. As it arched through the air, he turned, and as it landed with a hiss, he turned back to me. I stared in shock, I hadn't thought he would actually make it into the fire.   
  
"Then he laughed. He laughed so hard he doubled up onto the floor. At his display of humor, I began to giggle, then finally I laughed too. All the servants lost their worried looks of 'what will the little mistress do?' and joined in on our little jest."  
  
Here she finished. Cole stared.  
  
"When didja have the dream Katie?" He asked.  
  
"When I finished my chores, I fell asleep out here, under the tree, only for a little while. Then I wanted to tell you my dream, but you weren't done, so I started to pester you, then you...Did what he did."  
  
Cole shook his head. 'Coincidence'.' he thought, getting up, pulling Katie with him.  
  
But now, at thirteen, this was no dream. Jacob was gone. Beth was grieving, and poor Katie was stuck in the kitchen cooking blindly.  
  
"Cole?" She called from the kitchen.   
  
Cole walked slowly into the room to find her sitting on the table. Her eyes were dowcast, her hair cascading over her arms and spilling onto her lap.   
  
"Yeah?" He asked, moving in front of her.  
  
"Beth won't take food, and she won't last much longer if she doesn't eat. It's been two weeks, Cole, and I doubt she taken more than a nibble since the funeral."  
  
"So whaddya wanna do Katie, you think we can just up and leave Beth now?" Cole asked, his eyes flashing.  
  
"No!" She exclaimed loudly, ripping her eys off the floor and staring him in the face, her pale eyes chilling him. "No," she said, softly this time, "But...Cole...As much as you have honor and pride and all that, you're still not strong enough to keep up this farm. Without the crops and all that, we don't have any money, Cole."  
  
Katie could see his jaw tighten and his eyes flashed once again as he glared at her.  
  
"And I can't cook food well enough to keep us alive. We need..." She trailed off, looking in the direction of Beth's room, where the old woman lay, wasting away. "Either Beth needs to get up on her feet, or we need to get out of here. Because we can't live like this."  
  
Her words dripped in passionate emotion, Katie continued to tell Cole exactly what would happen if they stayed and Beth did not get well.  
  
"And how d'ya know Katherine, huh? How d'ya know? How d'ya know we won't be able ta do this by oursleves, huh?" Cole asked, wondering why Katie sounded much more educated than he when she spoke.  
  
"How, Cole? How?!" Her voice got increasingly louder and more and more livid as she continued. "I know because I can see whats right in front of me! I can see that one, you're not strong enough, or old enough, or experienced enough to run this farm on your own, and two, that I can't cook worth a lick. And three Cole, I can see that Beth WON'T get better, that she WON'T take care of us anymore than she'll take care of herself!  
  
"So here's what I'll do Cole. I'll make this fair for you Conlon," Cole cringed inwardly as she called him that. No good came from times when she called him Conlon, "I'll make this fair and I'll tell Beth that we need her help to live. And if she doesn't get out of bed in three days, three Cole, three...Then I'm gone, and you can either come or stay."  
  
Cole watched her carefully. She sat, still perched on the table, her legs swinging hard and dangerously close to some of his more important areas.   
  
"Women can't survive without men," he said impishly, telling her that only if he went with her would she be able to survive. "And where would you go anyway?"  
  
"First of all, to the city, there's oppertunity there, and second of all, that's fine because I'm only a girl, and you Conlon, are only a little, selfish boy afraid of change."  
  
And with that, she swung herself off the table, narrowly missing him; and strode down the short hallway and into Beth's room.  
  
And so, three days later, the two thirteen year-old children left. They hugged Beth good-bye, Katie begging her to get out of bed and eat something, cook something, just so they could stay. But Beth refused, saying that she had led a good life, a long life, and that the two people in front of her were proof of her success.  
  
"All I want now is to be with my husband," she said, closing her eyes against the light streaming in and the two bodies in front of her. "You'll do well, I know it, and I wouldn' let you go if I didn't feel it in my heart of hearts."  
  
That was something Beth said often, that she felt something in her 'heart of hearts'. Neither of the two really grasped the intensity of that phrase, not yet anyway.  
  
So they took the only horse they had, saddled up, and began the two day trek to the city of dreams, with streets paved in gold. 


	3. Harsh Reality

Cobblestone.  
  
Cobblestone, not gold, Katie thought, looking at her feet, the street beneath them.  
  
Once the pair had reached the outskirts of the city, a farmhouse much like their own had stood off the the left. Cole had sold the horse, a fine, purebread stallion, to the farmer for a price only a naive kid would take. Pocketing his five dollars, Cole walked back to the road where Katie stood.  
  
"Food from the farmer's wife," he said, handing her a hunk of bread and a large wedge of cheese. The two ate in silence, savoring their simple meal. It was the only food they'd had in the two days since they had left.   
  
They then began the short walk to the city.  
  
Now, standing there, her dirty brown skirt swaying in the breeze, Katie realized that the simple farmers had it all wrong. From what she could see, here on the street, New York City was no city of dreams, it was only a rat infested place crawling with small children with no parents and no homes.   
  
Much like themselves.  
  
But Cole stood as well, gazing about himself. His chest puffed with the same pride he'd had even at age three, proclaiming his name for all the world to hear. From what he saw, New York was a place of potential, of intrigue, of power.   
  
And he planned to get his hands on some of that power as soon as oppertunity knocked.  
  
But first there was the small matter of lodging. Here in Manhattan there didn't seem to be much space for kids, except for the alleys. Cole shuddered involuntarily at the thought of sleeping there when the weather turned cold, as it would soon.  
  
"Okay Katherine, it's time ta find a place ta sleep," he said softly, turning to Katie, who stood staring at her surroundings.   
  
"Mmm, okay Mr. Smarty-Pants. Now that we're here you're going to be the ringleader? Since when are you so happy about being here?" Cole's sudden change of heart had her wondering.  
  
"I'm not," he said defensively. Katie cast him a Look. "Alright Katie, alright. I feel power on these streets Katherine." He took her chilled hand in his. "I want some."  
  
Katie felt a small smile creep upon her lips. She squashed it down, keeping her expression placid. "Well, let's go get you some then, Mr. Conlon."  
  
Three months later, Katie's mind was still reeling from all that had happened. She'd say one thing for New York City, nothing ever stayed the same.  
  
As she began to reminisce on the things that had went on, she felt a pang for Cole. She missed him. Her Cole was gone, replaced by a hard, unnerving young man who had no time for his small, weak, unattractive Katherine.  
  
Cole had first seen a newsboy, or a newsie, as the up-towners called them, and as they called themselves, he had learned; on that first day. The boy, wearing a red bandana and a cowboy hat around his neck, had tried to sell them a paper for a penny.  
  
"We don't got any money Kid," Cole had said, conveniently forgetting the five dollars he had tucked in his back pocket.  
  
"I ain't Kid, he is," The boy said, grinning jokingly, as he pointed to a boy of about fourteen with bright blue eyes and shaggy blonde hair. "Kid da newsie, 'dat is."  
  
Cole stared him down. The newsie felt a surge of intimidation as the boy smaller than he and around two years younger glared at him with eyes that glittered and flashed darkly.  
  
"What are you, some kinda walkin' mouth?" Cole asked, smirking.  
  
"Naah...Name's Kelly. Jack Kelly. Dey call me Cowboy 'round heah."  
  
"Well then. I'm Cole. Cole Conlon," Cole had said, looking the boy up and down as if measuring his size.  
  
Katie, who had been silent during this whole exchange, gazed at the boy. He must have felt her eyes on him, for he turned to her.  
  
"An' whass dis? Some li'l church mouse?" The boy asked, waving a hand at Katie's pink nose, and referring to her silence.  
  
"Katherine Redding. Nice to meet you...Cowboy." Katie said stiffly, her lips in a firm, thin line.  
  
"Cawl me Jack Miss," He said, grinning. Katie licked her lips in annoyance.  
  
Cole had broken the silence with an inquiry.  
  
"So what's this that ya do Jack? Sell papers for a livin'?"  
  
Jack nodded. "Papes. I'se a newsie. One day, I'll be da leadah."  
  
Katie could almost feel Cole's blood pump faster, and hear his heart beat louder at the word 'leader.'  
  
"Leader of what?" Katie had asked, wondering exactly what there could be to lead in selling 'papes'.  
  
"The newsies," Jack said, looking at her as if she were stupid. "Boys need a leadah." He turned back to Cole. "We all stay at the lodgin' house, if you don't got nothin' to do ta make money or anywheah ta stay." He paused, and glanced at Katie. "We don't got no house fer goils though. She couldn't stay."  
  
Katie could feel Cole tense, as he glanced at her as well. "Well, we gotta stay together. Me and her."  
  
"Well Brooklyn has a goils' lodgin' house, fer newsgoils. Deah's not many, mind ya, but they'se got a place ta stay. Smallah den da Newsboys' House, but it's theah." Jack stared at Cole. "You'll fit in bettah theah anyway. Ya look like a kid who wants powah. Brooklyn'll give ya some."  
  
It all went downhill when Cole had decided to go to Brooklyn. Jack Kelly had told of the reputations the Brooklynites had, and he wanted a reputation theat made girls weak in the knees and little boys run.   
  
So he dragged Katie over the bridge on the spot. As Jack watched them go, he knew he himself would be leader of the Manhattan newsies one day soon, but possibly sooner, Cole Conlon would become a great, and feared leader. Famous too, he could tell.   
  
Conlon would be a name guaranteed to make anyone nervous.  
  
And in the past three months, Katie had been tossed into a house not-exactly-filled with girls. Three others, besides herself, to be exact.   
  
Amelia Parker, known in the newsies' world as Mugger, was a tough one. You wouldn't expect it from her appearance, as she was a short little thing. Around thirteen or fourteen, she had short, frizzy, curly brown hair, nearly black, and eyes just as dark. Her skin was a tan olive, and her muddy complexion and slightly chubby body didn't make her THE most attractive person in the world, but under her tough exterior, she really was a sweet girl.  
  
Amy O'Grady, a young girl of ten, was as Irish as they come, and her age and country of birth had prevented her from a factory job, not to mention that both of her parents and her brother had died of Scarlet Fever on the way to America three years before. No one wanted Irish girls. But she was a cute little girl. Her red hair was usually mussed and tangled, and her bright green eyes usually twinged with laughter. Her flaming red hair earned her the name Carrot.  
  
And the last, Lisa Macaulay, had paper straight brown hair, with highlights from the sun similar to Katie's. It's length and quality matched Katherine's as well, but Katie had to admit, in the looks department, Lisa came out on the higher end. Her honey brown eyes and her equally honey-colored skin matched perfectly, and her high cheekbones, perfectly triangle nose, and full, tan-pink lips sold her plenty of papes.   
  
And she was formed; what Katie wanted to be. She had a chest, thighs, a seat, and curves everywhere else; enough to drive a man wild. And she was only a year Katie's senior. They called her Scots, for lack of creativity on her day of names.   
  
Lisa was Scottish, and Katie's guess was that the person who gave her her name had searched for one out of the gutter, and coming up lacking, had resorted to Scots.   
  
Katherine wasn't too thrilled about her own name either. Jack Kelly, curse him, had given her a name the first day they had met. Church Mouse. As they were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, Cole had begun to call her that, apparently finding it very humorous.   
  
Katie was not amused.  
  
"Come on Katie, all the newsies have nicknames, and that's what you'll be from now on."   
  
Katie had wanted to ask him exactly when he had become in charge of what she would do, but she realized, quite wisely, that she had nothing better to do. And she wouldn't let herself be more seperated from Cole than was absolutely necessary.  
  
"So what's YOUR name gonna be Conlon?" She asked, feeling quite sinppety now that they were alone, without that annoying, if not handsome, newsie around.  
  
"Don't have one yet Redding," He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he uttered her last name.  
  
She stuck her tongue out at him before turning away. They got lost about three times on their way to Brooklyn, for Cole, full of pride, never asked for directions, a fact that made Katie want to reach out and throttle him.  
  
Now, looking back on that oh-so-fateful day, Katherine felt a pang. That day was her last one joking with Cole, smiling at him, watching the way his jaw moved when he spoke, stealing glances at him out of the corner of her eye.  
  
As soon as they had gotten to Brooklyn, Cole had spotted a lone newsboy. It was nearing sunset, and finally, at the thought of possibly sleeping outside in an alley, Cole strutted up to the boy who seemed about eleven, and asked him where the Lodging House was.  
  
"Hold on. I'se almos' done sellin'. I'll wawk back witcha." And as they watched, he quickly sold the last of his papes, all the while yelling in that same odd accent.  
  
As soon as they had arrived, Cole had been swooped down upon by an attracitve, muscular boy of about sixteen. The young man's eyes were as dark as his black shirt, and his black curls cascaded onto his forehead. He introduced himself, his accent the same as the newsboy they now knew as Volume.   
  
The boys called him Top; and he explained it briefly, saying that the leader before him told him that one day, he would be Top Dog. The name stuck, but dropped the second word. Top. It seemed to fit the handsome boy quite well.  
  
Always on the watch, Top saw Cole's backward glance, and felt his hesitation as Top led him into the House.   
  
Turning, Top saw Katie for the first time. He was taken aback at her hair, as everyone was. It shone even in the setting sun, the shadows seeming to go around it. At a closer insepction, he was surprised to find that she wasn't a knock-out. Eyebrows raised, he scanned the docks.  
  
"Scots!" He yelled, looking in the direction of a boy and a girl who were conversing on the end of the dock.  
  
To Katie's astonishment, it was not the boy who turned, but the girl.   
  
"Yeah?" she called back, turning her gaze to Top. She shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun at the horizon.  
  
"Come 'ere! I got a new goil foah ya!"   
  
At that, Scots jogged over to the small group, her skirts swaying. As she came closer, Katie saw how very pretty she was, despite her dirty face and hands, and how grubby her clothes were. Katherine cringed inwardly at what she knew to be true--she'd be that unclean in a a few days' time.  
  
"Really? Where is she?" Scots asked, looking at Top, her voice light and airy and carriyng the traces of a lovely Scottish accent that seemed to have faded ever-so-slightly.  
  
Top nodded in Katie's direction, and as Scots looked at her, Katie felt her eyes stop on the blonde locks, then travel down her face and body, as if she were sizing her up. Which she was.  
  
"Hey. I'm Lisa. They call me Scots. You will too, eh?" Katie found herself smiling at the way the girl pronounced her words, in spite of her inhibitions at being there.  
  
"Yes..." Katie began, trailing off, "I'm Katie. nice to meet you."   
  
The two girls shook hands, and when a few boys lolly-gagging on the steps snickered, Scots rolled her eyes as Katie looked in their direction, confused.  
  
"Women." Top said. "Shake hand's wi' me boy," He said to Cole. Cole stuck out his hand, and Top promptly spit into his own before holding it out to Cole.  
  
After a slight hesitation, Cole shrugged, spit in his hand, and shook with Top.  
  
Katie wrinkled her nose as Scots voiced her opinion. "Disgusting. Which is why we girls don't do it."   
  
Top laughed, and Scots made a face at him, triyng not to smile.  
  
"Well Katie, come on. We better get inside. Mrs. Pan cooks us girls dinner on Saturdays."   
  
And so the girls had gone one way, into another, smaller building across the street from the boys, and the boys had gone the other.   
  
Thus beginning the seperation of Cole Conlon and Katherine Redding.  
  
Thus beginning the transformation of Cole Conlon to the hard, unfeeling Spot Conlon.  
  
Katie didn't know how Cole had gotten his name, Spot, and frankly, she didn't really care.  
  
"Mouse!" Katie heard a call from down the stairs, and she shook herself out of her memories.  
  
"These weeks are gone and done Katherine. Cole is gone. He's...Spot now. Get used to it..." Katherine spoke to herself quietly before calling back, "I'm coming!"  
  
Selling was getting easier as well. The first day of selling, Katie had bought thirty, and sold exactly fourteen. Now, today, buying thirty, she sold every single paper, but highly doubted she would get much better than that for a long time.  
  
At Greeley's that afternoon, Scots plopped herself down next to Top, who smiled, making his handsome face even more attractive.   
  
Katie sat down tentatively next to Mugger, who smirked at her. Smirking was as close as Mugger got to smiling, at least in public. In the privacy of their room, she was all smiles and laughs.   
  
Katie watched Spot. Cole. No Spot; for Cole was gone. Buried somewhere underneath that exterior that had rapidly taken him over.  
  
He sat at the right hand of Top, who had adopted him as his sidekick. Katie knew however, that as soon as Top left, Spot would become leader. She felt it in her heart of hearts, as Beth would say.   
  
The door opened, and out of habit, nearly every head turned toward the sound of the bell's jangling.   
  
A young man of about seventeen strolled in, a younger boy at his heels. Katie didn't recognize the older boy, but the younger one gave her a start.  
  
It was Jack Kelly, his hair falling over his eyes as he adjusted the bandana around his neck.  
  
"Top. We'se got business ta handle," the older one said, his cat green eyes glittering dangerously.  
  
"What kin'a business Quail?" Top asked, not missing a beat.  
  
"Harlem." Quail said pointedly, shaking his blonde hair out of his eyes. Katie couldn't decide if he was handsome or not. "Top. Can we'se tawk about dis outside?" He added, motioning to the door.  
  
"Me boys'll find out whethah you tell 'em now or I tell 'em latah." Top shot back, licking his lips, Spot smirking at his side.   
  
Katie had noticed that in the time they had been there, that smirk had intensified from the inncoent, humorous expression she had known back in the country; to what it was now: a hardened, smoking hot smirk that made her heart pound with emotions she did not understand.  
  
Quail sighed, comtemplating. Katie decided that he had a cuteness that grew on her. Finally, after a long silence, where Top and Quail stared at one another as Jack and Spot did likewise, Carrot broke the tension with a sneeze, her red hair flying as she rocked forward.  
  
"Awright Top. Harlem's been causin' some trouble in 'Hattan. Some a me boys been comin' home with nice shinahs and some bloody noses. Now dat ain't too unusual, but it's moah den dere usually is. From what they tellin' me, it's da same group a five guys e'ery time. I had some a me boys go out and track 'em. They followed 'em ta Harlem."  
  
Here he paused, and glanced at Jack.  
  
"We followed 'em ta Harlem," Jack began, and evidently he had been a spy, "They'se newsies. It's five of 'em, all 'em about sixteen oah seventeen. Last 'Hattan newsie they soaked was nine."  
  
Katie uttered an audible gasp. A scuffle between teenage boys was normal, but for a strong, tough young man to go after a little boy who couldn't fend for himself as a result of brawn alone, or lack thereof; that was unacceptable.  
  
Quail and Jack glanced at her for a brief second before turning back to Top.   
  
"So far it's juss been shinahs and bruises. But i'm tellin' ya Top, if it gets any woise; if one a me boys comes back with some serious injury, oah doesn' came back at awl; den we'se goin' out ta get 'em." Quail finished, his outh set in a firm, stubborn line.  
  
Spot spoke up for the first time, when Top didn't reply.   
  
"And ya need Brooklyn's help huh?" Katie was mesmerized at how quickly he had picked up the ruggedly harsh Brooklyn accent.  
  
Quail stared at Spot for a moment. He seemed to be debating whether or not he should soak the kid for talking back at him, or should just answer.  
  
Something in the boy's eyes made him stop the retort he felt coming. There was an intensity in them, an intensity that burned with the fire of determination. An intensity that demanded respect.  
  
"Yeah. We need Brooklyn." Quail's mouth was set in a thin line as he replied, his arms crossed.  
  
Top stood, walked over to Quail, and spit in his hand, holding it out to his fellow leader.  
  
"If ya need help, I'd be happy ta give ya some," he said, simpering.  
  
Quail nodded, a slight, relieved smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He supressed it quickly, and returned the spit-shake.  
  
And with that, the Manhattan leader and Jack turned and sauntered out of Greeley's.  
  
A few days later, Brooklyn would join forces with Manhattan. For the newsie called Kid had been soaked. And the expression, "You're gonna poke somebody's eye out!" became an all too harsh reality.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Skittles: Thanks so much! The best Prologue? Jeeeeez it was not...LOL I jsut though one was needed...Hee hee...Here's stuff you haven't read--and the next chappie os more than halfway done, so I'm right on schedule!!! yeah baby! *does the cabbage patch*  
  
Sparkles and Chronicles Bailey--Here ya go goilees...more!  
  
Lucky--I know, kinda sad...But here's what happens when they get to NYC! I hope ya enjoyed it!  
  
Come now, click the button and give me the coolest, most innovative review ever! *laughs*  
  
New reviewers will get a very nice reviewer dance, consisting of the Hustle, the Cabbage Patch, and very possibly some moves from my personal rain/snow dance, which kicks i must say.  
  
And of course, if Rhys is reading...i'll take a page from...Omni? I think it was, correct me if im dead wrong, which i prolly am...But either way, I'll take a page from ehr book and bestow upon you OJ and animal crackers...or graham crackers or whatever the hell crackers it was.....But i need some kickin reviews from my MST goilees!!  
  
Chelci  
  
Glimmer Conlon O'Leary 


	4. The War Of The Ways

The night before the "War of the Ways," as it was called, started, Katie had another dream.  
  
Her and her companion, who was still faceless, were in the kitchen once again, remembering back to the times they had spent in that room. Conversation turned to the day when he had burned Mistress Katherine's shoes in the stove, and the kitchen servants who had been present, which included his mother and the head cook, among others; began to laugh at the memory: the boy rolling on the floor, Mistress Katherine staring at him, aghast, before breaking into her own peals of laughter.   
  
Katie had woken up then, smiling at the recollection. When she had fallen back into dreamland, the atmosphere at the castle had changed vastly.   
  
The boy and his mother were packing their meager amount of belongings into potato sacks, expressions of sheer sadness painting their faces.  
  
Katherine entered the small stone room the boy and his mother shared, stopping dead at their actions.  
  
"What are you doing?!" She asked shrilly, her eyes going wide.  
  
"Leaving, Mistress Katherine," The boy's mother said, her eyes downcast.  
  
"But why?" Katherine, who's hands were becoming cold just from standing in the room asked, her mouth in a perfect "O" of bisbelief.  
  
"Your mother was told that I had stolen from her, told by her most trusted servant. We must leave."  
  
"Mother dismissed you?" Katherine had asked the question, intitial shock sinking in. His mother nodded, her face betraying no emotion.   
  
Katherine looked at the boy. He soundlessly picked up his bag, the muscles in his arms strong from his years of work.  
  
He walked past Katherine, his head down, his eyes on the ground.  
  
"You can't leave!" Katherine heard herself cry out as he reached the front of the house, where a horse and buggy were waiting to take him away.  
  
"I have to," he replied, his voice shaking ever-so-slightly. He cleared his throat, "I have to stay with Mama. It's my duty."  
  
Katherine felt herself losing control. This was her best friend, the boy she had grown up with. It didn't matter to her that he was a servant's son, to her he was as noble and as deserving as any rich boy.   
  
"Oh, you and your blasted honor! You can't go!"   
  
"I told him he could stay," a voice came from behind Katherine. It was his mother. "But he won't. I told him I wanted him to stay, and make money. But he won't."  
  
"I'm staying with you Mama, and that's final," The boy said, throwing his last bag into the back of the buggy.  
  
"Stay. Please." Katherine knew it was undignified for her to plead, and she struggled to regain her composure, failing more miserably than ever before.  
  
"No."  
  
As Katie awoke, she felt her cheeks, wet with the hot tears of grief. Somehow, she felt his pain as well as her own. He didn't want to go, she knew. But his sense of what was right and what was wrong kept him from staying.  
  
Katie didn't sleep for the rest of the night. She knew, somehow, that something terribly horrifying was on the horizon. That as soon as the sun rose, so would trouble.  
  
And trouble rose alright; rose with the speed and vigor of a cheetah through the grasses.  
  
As soon as Katie went dowstairs that morning, dressed in her old brown skirt and a white blouse, her hair tied up in a loose bun; she knew something was wrong. Scots had gotten out of bed before Katie had even considered it, and now she as nowhere to be found.  
  
Her curiosity getting the best of her, Katie stepped outside of the House after a search inside.   
  
It was a little before dawn, and Sunday. As there was no morning Edition, no one should have been awake.   
  
But a group of boys stood outside the Brooklyn Newsboys' Lodging House. From the looks of them, they were newsies, but they didn't stand with the defiant stance of a Brooklynite.   
  
Crossing the cobblestone street, her eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness, Katie noticed that candles flickered in nearly every window in the Lodging House.  
  
As she approached the boys, they turned to stare at her.   
  
"What's going on?" She asked as she reached them.   
  
"Nothin'." One, a short boy with wavy dark heair slicked with hair grease said, a stogie between his teeth.  
  
When the girl didn't seem to have any intention of turning back into the Girls' Lodging House, another sighed heavily, rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his hand.  
  
"It's stahted," he said quietly, his voice betraying his sense of defeat.  
  
"What started?" Katie asked, taking a careful step closer to the boy who had spoken, a boy as pale as herself, with blue eyes, and blonde hair the color of straw.  
  
"The war," finished another, one with brown curls and glasses.  
  
"War?" Katie asked, her voice a whisper. Before anyone could reply, Scots came flying out of the Lodging House.  
  
"Oh! Mouse! What're you doin' here eh?" Eyes wide, Scots looked like a frightened child.   
  
"Scots? What;s going on? What 'War'?" Katie grabbed Scots' hands in her own.   
  
Scots stole a glance at the three boys who stood, looking as if they had gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar.  
  
"One Manhattan boy got soaked." Scots said, her voice trembling.  
  
"Harlem?" Katie asked, afraid to raise her voice.  
  
Scots nodded, "He almost got killed. He's..They had to tak him to a hospital. He might've lost an eye."   
  
At her chilliing words, Katie gasped. She knew these boys were from Manhattan, must know the boy. Must be his friends.  
  
"Quail and Jack are inside with Top and Spot. The boys are going to war."  
  
The blood in Katie's veins froze. Her heart pounded in her chest.  
  
After what could have been several mintues, could have been several hours, of the five standing in the cold, a large group of boys exited the House and piled into the street.   
  
Kaite located Spot in the crowd. He was easy to identify, right in the middle, next to Jack and the two leaders.   
  
Spot's felt like his insides would explode out of him if his heart beat any faster. In three months of being in New York, he was already in a war of revenge.  
  
He saw Katie, standing next to the pretty young woman called Scots. He saw her bite the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit. As his mind, trained quickly in the ways of Brooklyn, screamed at at him to look away and go fight; his heart wanted his body to run to Katie, to pull her close and never let her go.  
  
He had barely said three words to her in three months. Cole Conlon had to be buried as Spot Conlon made his rise to glory. Buried along with everything that came with him.  
  
More than anything, for as long as he could remember, he had wanted to be on top. Wanted to cream of the crop, head of the heap...King of the hill.  
  
Notihng could get in the way, no matter how hard it was.  
  
But now, as the boys started on their way to Harlem, more Manhattan boys coming from the direction of the bridge, Katie made her way over to him.  
  
"Cole! Don't go!"   
  
Never, in all the time they had been there, ever since Spot Conlon was formed, had she referred to him as Cole. Not even to herself.  
  
Scots gasped. Mouse talked about Cole all the time. Cole, the boy she had grown up with, the boy who had to be left behind when she came to New York with Spot. She talked of him, the things he found humorous, the things that hurt him. All the girls knew what Cole like to eat, what made him wrinkle his nose, his expressions. They knew what he said often, knew of the things he and Mouse had done as children. Cole was a young man any young woman would want. He was sweet, gentle, handsome, and a good listener, while still having faults that only seemed to make him more deisrable.  
  
Sometimes his pride got the best of him, clouded his senses, sometimes his sense of duty had gotten Mouse into disciplinary trouble. But all the girls felt like they knew him, felt as though if he had appeared, that they would want to be with him. Mouse never seemed as if she had wanted more than friendship, but she loved Cole with every fiber of her being.  
  
Now, hearing his name brought Scots flying back to reality from the daze she had been in since hearing the news of the attack.  
  
"Cole! Cole please!" Mouse's voice came again, and Scots turned hither and thither, trying to find who she was speaking to.  
  
But Mouse only ran to Spot.  
  
A fresh wave of shock rocked Scots' mind. Cole was Spot Conlon. But Cole was nothing like Spot. But...Everything Mouse had said about his pride overruling all else at all costs made it all make sense.  
  
Spot looked at Katie, his amazing eyes serious. He licked his lips.   
  
The group of newsboys fell silent as Top stopped beside Spot, his dark eyes drilling into her, a black cane wth a glossy gold-tip held in his hand. Katie didn't want to think of the hell he planned to unleash with that heavy, lethal tip.  
  
Any other girl would have shrunken away from his burning glare, but Katie barely looked in his direction.  
  
"Cole. Please. You'll get hurt," She begged, her colorless eyes uncharacteristically wet.  
  
"I have ta go," He spoke quitely, hoping no one would hear, but in the dead silence, it was impossbile to cover, "It's paht a my duty."  
  
"Oh, you and your blasted honor!" Katie heard herself yell the words before she had the time to recognize them. When she did, she felt her heart stop. She swallowed heavily, attempting to swallow the tears she felt in her eyes as well, to no avail.  
  
Without responing, Spot squeezed her arm and turned away. In an instant, he was gone, along with the other boys, on his way to Harlem to fight with his fists, alongside his leader and Manhattan.  
  
And all for the revenge of a bot he had never met.  
  
And the war raged on. The boys didn't come home all that day, and no newsgirl left behind dared to sell. They sat in the Brooklyn Lodging House, waiting. Waiting to nurse the wounded, waiting to make the fatally inujred boys comfortable, waiting for anything and anyone they knew.   
  
But they waited in vain, for the battle went on, continuing past dusk and into the night. No newsgirl had any doubt that if the bulls knew, they didn't care; but most likely, the boys were fighting privately. Privately and viciously.  
  
Images of teenage boys ripping each other apart with claws, fists, and anything else they could find to use as weaponry filled their minds, making them shudder involuntarily.  
  
When the grandfather clock in the lobby struck three, and there was still no news form the boys, Katie stopped her pacing in front of the window.  
  
Sitting on a frayed and patched couch next to Scots, who looked as though someone had thrown her over a broom.  
  
After long, grueling minutes where the two girls merely sat and stared into space, Mugger entered the common room, stretching.  
  
"I put Carrot to bed," she said, her voice dull and hollow. Her short, frizzy curls stuck to her sweaty, stout face as she yawned.  
  
"Mmmm," was all Scots said in reply. She took a quick breath and turned to Katie, her mouth open as if to speak, but the light quickly left her eys and she sighed, closing her mouth.  
  
"Just ask," Katie said, fiddling with the edge of the pillow across her torso.  
  
"Spot is your Cole?" Scots asked, hey honey eyes innocent in their inquiry.   
  
Katie sighed shakily. All memory of her precious Cole made her think of the cold young man he had become; making her want to bury her face in her hands and bawl out the tears of a young woman who has lost a love she never had.  
  
"Yes." She had meant to be firm, courageous, but her one word came out breathy and as quiet as that falling snow.  
  
But they heard; Mugger and Scots. And after a quick glance at oneanother, the topic was dropped and the three girls went back to their thoughtful, worried brooding.  
  
Katie felt herself dropping into dreamland, and dreamland was the last place she wanted to be now, what with this private, unknown war going on in Harlem.  
  
But the Sandman is an irresistable force, and Katie knew that the myths were true. He gave you dreams alright. Yet these dreams haunted her, for she never knew when they would turn from humorous and playful to forboding and dangerous.   
  
As she slipped into the clutches of sleep, she vaguely remembered wondering what would come of this dream. 


	5. The Sound Of Silence Part One

First of all, I'd like to give special thanks to Skittles for her help with these two difficult and heartwrenching chapters--God knows we had a hard time writing them. To Simon and Garfunkel for their inspiration with the song "Sound of Silence" who's lyrics are scattered into these two chapters. I hope you guys enjoy, and remember, that all life is precious, and that no death should go unnoticed.  
  
Glimmer Conlon O'Leary  
  
Chapters 4 and 5 -Sound of Silence  
  
As she slipped into a deep slumber, Katie knew that this time, it would be as different as God could make it.   
  
And so, as she slept, she dreamed, and as she dreamed, she dreaded the coming prophecy she knew the dream would bring in its wake.  
  
(Hello darkness my old friend,  
I've come to talk with you again,  
Because a vision softly creeping  
Left its seeds while I was sleeping.)  
  
The Civil War. The people in the house talked of it non-stop. All Katherine knew was that he would leave, leave to fight for the North against the South.  
  
And as the day came, Katherine shook with the trepidation of the coming doom that would fall upon her life.  
  
At the train station she stood, surrounded by women waiting for their men to pass by on his way to the battles. Most wept, some merely stared, their eyes hard, their expression blank.  
  
As the men approached, the shaking sobs of the women rose to a heartbreaking level of grief.   
  
As they walked, many of the men stared at the ground, or straight ahead, unblinking. They kissed their wives and loved ones goodbye, their eyes open wide in mind-boggling fear.   
  
Two young men Katherine knew passed by, and, on impulse, she reached out to them, pulling them to her one at a time, wondering if it would be the last she would see of them. As she pulled them into her warm embrace, she felt their strong bodies, pressed up against hers, shaking uncontrollably at the fate that lay before them.  
  
It was a suicide mission, they all knew. Most would not come back alive.  
  
Finally, after the two tembling men were gone and on the train, he came. His hair, pefectly combed as usual, his toned muscles visible even through the shirt he wore. Still, he had no face that she could see. Yet the aura around him, the love she felt reverberating off his body and into her soul let Katherine know that this man was he.  
  
As he advanced on her, his strides gliding with a confidence that nearly every other man was lacking, Katherine's heart pounded, her pulse raced, and her already clammy hands broke into a sweat that only he could procure.  
  
As he stopped in front of her, Katherine, before she could contain herself as the other women had, threw herself upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him as close as she could get him, as if in doing so, she could hold him there for all time.   
  
He finally broke away, his breathing as uneven as Katherine's own. He kissed her firmly on the lips, his mouth burning into her with a passion she had never felt before, in real life or in a dream.  
  
As Katie woke, she only lay awake long enough to understand why this one had been different. A different time, different ages, a different world. The only real, and true reason was because times, and their world, had changed. And no one would ever be the same.  
  
As Katie fell into what she was certain would be the conclusion of her dream, she stirred on the couch. Her body felt a happiness, mixed with an incomparable sadness that chilled her body as she waited at that same train station, this day a complete opposite form the day the men had left. The rain fell on this day, wetting Katherine's clothing and hair as she waited, unprotected, the same as many other women hoping, and begging God to let their men come home alive.  
  
The train, wet and silver, pulled up to the station. Katherine bit the inside of her cheek in anticipation. The first man, bedraggled and dirty, stepped off the train. A woman to Katherine's left shrieked in joy as she ran to her husband. His face, scarred with the horrors he had witnessed, lit only slightly as he swept his wife into his arms.   
  
As more and more men stepped off the train, more and more women cried out in thanks to God, and more and more faces fell as the chances of their men coming home slipped away.   
  
At long last, after Katherine was sure that there couldn't possibly be many more men on that train, a final man stepped from the railcar.   
  
The women still remaining tensed visibly. Their eyes widened, their hands drew themselved to their mouths.  
  
He stepped from the darkness. He, in all his glory. In all his wonderful, beautiful, amazing glory.   
  
The Devil himself couldn't have stopped Katherine from running to him, wet hair flying, drenched skirts and petticoat sticking to her legs.   
  
As she ran, she heard his voice ring out her name, as if church bells rang just for her.   
  
Entering his arms, Katherine felt safe, relieved; felt phenomenally glorified and rejuvinated for the first time since he had left nearly four years before.   
  
All that time she had waited. After waiting lifetimes for him, Katherine had known that when he returned, the wait would have been well worthwhile.   
  
And at that Katie awoke a final time, pausing in her happiness only long enough to know that the two men she had embraced had not returned.   
  
An omen. She shuddered to think what it meant.   
  
A pounding on the lodging house door woke Scots and Mugger from the sleeps they had fallen into.  
  
(And the vision that was planted in my brain  
Still remains  
Within the sound of silence.)  
  
Scots walked to the door, glancing back at Mugger and Katie, all three of them expecting the worst.  
  
As she opened it, a dark skinned boy of around eight stumbled into the House, out of breath and panting.   
  
"He...Stabbed...Arm..And--Help!" He wheezed out, bent in half, struggling to catch his breath.  
  
Boots could barely believe the things he'd seen. He'd been kept off to the side, not in the fight, not outisde of it, just there, as a runner in case anyone got wounded. But the things he'd seen were horrors beyond anything that he would ever see in his long life. Beyond anything anyone present would ever see again.  
  
In an instant, Katie, Mugger, and Scots were out the door and flying into the Newsgirls' Lodging House, waking Mrs. Pan; a widower whose late husband had been a doctor with a gambling problem, murdered by the bookies who had taken everything they owned. Everythng except Mrs. Pan's knowledge of medicine, obtained by her husband.  
  
In a flurry of hair, arms, and skirts, the four women scurried about, boiling water as ordered, tearing towels into thick strips and soaking them in the boiling water.  
  
"If there's severe bleeding girls, we're going to have to sew it up, and if there's..." She went on and on, recalling all stab wounds she'd ever heard tell of.   
  
Mrs. Pan sent Mugger back to the Boys' House to fetch whiskey as disinfectant, and to wait for them to come.   
  
When at last everything was ready, the needle sterilized and the thread handy just in case, the girls ran back to the House, as Mrs. Pan carried a pot of boiling water through the accumulating snow.   
  
It suddenly occurred to her that the boiling water would scald the poor boy to tears, if he wasn't already in them, and she set the pot in the snow, sending up a gale of steam so thick she couldn't see through it.   
  
Through the hiss of the heat meeting snow, Mrs. Pan heard crunching footsteps, and abated breathing.  
  
Three boys, one carried by the other two, stepped through the steam into view, like knights after battle.   
  
The sight, magnificent in its own way, mesmerized old Mrs. Pan. the contrast between the strength of the two boys compared to the evident weakness of the third was so startling and yet so magically powerful it took her breath away.   
  
She gazed at the boys for mere seconds before something clicked in her mind and she beckoned to the boys, lifting the pot off the ground.  
  
As they entered the House, the two strong boys carrying the third with such ease and willingness that it melted her heart, Mrs. Pan called to Scots, Mugger, and Katie. The three girls hurried into the lobby, stopping short when they saw him.  
  
"Skittery," Scots breathed, her eyes wide in unabashed shock and terror.   
  
The boy in the middle raised his head slightly, and locked eyes with Scots, his eyes so full of pain and utter defeat that it wrenched her heart and soul.  
  
As the group knocked themselves out of their stupor, they carried Skittery to the common room, placing him on a clean sheet laid over a wooden table.   
  
He looked away from his arm, where a gash ran from just above his left elbow, entwining itself to the front of his shoulder. Blood seeped from the shirt wrapped tightly around it, in a feeble attempt to stop the blood.  
  
The two boys stood unblinkingly in the doorway, where one, shirtless, rubbed his toned arms for warmth.  
  
"Mush, sit near the fire," Mugger said, turning to look at him, "You too Pie."   
  
And as the boys sat, they faced away from the warm glow to watch over their friend, who lay silently on the table.  
  
As Mrs. Pan took a clean, dry washcloth from the small stack Katie held, she poured the well-searched for whiskey into it, and, hands shaking, lowered it toward Skittery's arm.  
  
As soon as the cleansing alchohol touched the wound, the boy who hadn't made a peep the entire time yelped in such pain his friends winced and the girls all felt severe pangs of guilt.   
  
As he gritted his teeth and sucked air through them, he squeezed his eyes shut, turning away.   
  
"You're so brave, you're so brave," Mrs. Pan repeated the comforting phrase over and over, her voice moving with such emotion they all felt her compassion.   
  
When at last she was through, she pressed yet another washcloth to the wound gently but firmly, managing to stop most of the bloodflow--yet the blood had already pooled onto the sheet and down the sides, dripping melodiosly onto the wooded floor.  
  
"We're going to have to sew," Mrs. Pan said, looking at the girls, who glanced nervously at one another.  
  
Scots retrieved the needle from the boiling water, taking no notice of her burning fingers as she stared into the handsome of the boy she had known for so long.   
  
As soon as the needle and thread puctured the soft skin around the wound, Skittery's eyes widened in unbearable agony and he convulsed, his legs curling as his head came up.   
  
In an instant, all three girls were on him, Mugger and Scots grabbing onto his legs and holding on for dear life as Katie pulled his head down and turned his face toward her own, bending to his level.  
  
His face was pale as the sheet he lay on, and beads of feverish sweat soaked his brow and his waves of brown hair. His brown eyes were unfocused and slightly dazed.  
  
Panicking, thinking he was about to pass out, Katie thought fast.   
  
"Skittery, listen to me okay? Listen..." She had his attention, but was now at a loss for words. An idea breaking into the chaos that was her mind made her jerk her head up.  
  
She beckoned to Pie, and he came over quicky.   
  
"Talk to him." Katie demanded.  
  
Pie simply nodded and uttered the words Katie could not. "Hey Skitts..You'se okay kid...Jus' a li'l scratch da's awl. Membah da time we played stickbawl las' April? Da snow wasn't awl gone, an' it was one a dem days when it was wintah in da mo'nin' an' spring in da aftahnoon. Membah Skitts?"  
  
Skittery swallowed his lips together. Katie wiped his brow with another washcloth as Pie spoke reassuringly to him.  
  
"Yeah," Skittery spoke, startling Katie. "An' I hit a homah right inta some ol' lady's ugly hat." As he spoke, his eyes brightened, but Katie felt him shiver from the sweaty wetness of his body.  
  
Pie laughed, a sound so unu to Katie that it shocked her.  
  
Skittery began to laugh, but in the middle, a tremor rocked his body and he ended up shaking furiously, and his brow, relatively dry only moments before, was once again soaked with sweat.   
  
Mrs. Pan knotted the last stitch and began to wrap his arm quickly, tightly, in the strips of towel. When at last she was done, his arm was stiff and immobile, just as it needed to be.  
  
Looking up, she finally took notice of Skittery lying on the table in his current fevered, trembling state.   
  
"Up to bed with him. Carefully. Don't move that arm. He may be hot and unwanting of covers, but keep him bundled. He must be kept warm or fever will set in. Go now."  
  
She ordered Mush and Pie away with Skittery, and once they were gone, she collapsed onto the couch seconds after cleaning her hands in the adjoining kitchen.  
  
"How did he get stabbed, girls?" She asked sternly.  
  
"We dunno," Mugger said, avoiding Mrs. Pan's eyes.  
  
"I know you know girls. Tell me."  
  
It was Katie who finally spoke, her voice hesitant and small.  
  
"The boys went to war with Harlem," she whispered.  
  
"War? Those boys have never seen war." After a long pause, she added, "Honestly," sounding quite exasperated. After a long silence, she got up off the couch, cleaned up the supplies, dumping them into the pot, carrying them into the kitchen.  
  
"If you need these again, girls, boil more water," she said softly, resigned to acceptance. "If anyone else needs sewing, fetch me."  
  
As she left, the girls knew that she understood what the War meant. This was no ordinary fight. In no way shape or form was this ordinary.  
  
As Mush and Pie came back down, the girls bombarded them with questions of what in the world was going on.  
  
The boys' vacant, dead eyes told them all they needed to know. It was a lose-lose situation; as is all war.  
  
As a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, the sky lit up with lightning so stark and bright it dazzled even those inside. 


	6. The Sound Of Silence Part Two

As if by instinct, the group of five headed to the door simultaneously. After standing for what felt like ages, a single person turned the corner.  
  
Lightning lit up the sky once again as more and more souls turned the corner.  
  
(And in the naked light I saw  
Ten thousand people maybe more.)  
  
All of Manhattan and the whole of Brooklyn trudged through the snow that night, the demolishing defeat evident in their eyes that all had the same message: "We was beat when we was born."  
  
From the shadows emerged monsters, hulking beasts being carried, seemingly impossibly, by the lumbering newsboys who sulked sadly down the snow-covered street.  
  
And Katie's heart soared as she saw Spot walking, but fell as she saw that he was one of the boys working to hold up and carry this huge burden.  
  
As the boys got closer, the group of five uttered a collective gasp as reality hit them all at once: The things they carried were people. People with no life in them; their lives had been stolen from inside of them through hatred.  
  
Spot approached and stared at the small group before him.  
  
"Go in. Sheets. On Floor." He intoned the words in monotone, his face betraying no emtion.   
  
The girls turned and rushed up the stairs to find clean sheets. As they entered the bunkroom, Skittery woke from his sleep with a start.  
  
"Wha--Wha's goin' on?" He asked, his voice hoarse.  
  
"They're back. Go back to sleep." Scots said as she passed him, rubbing his cheek softly, reassuringly.  
  
Grumbling slightly, Skittery lay back down and closed his eyes. Scots tucked his many disheveled covers back into place.  
  
Back in the common room, Spot stood, a few Brooklynites on his sides, holding up a body; and to their left stood Jack, the stogie sucking newsy and another, the brown-haired glasses-wearer supporting the other.  
  
As Katie's eyes fell on the bodies, her body froze.   
  
Top.   
  
Quail.  
  
She heard Mugger's gasp and Scots' whimper of horror-stricken terror. The boys wordlessly set the bodies on the sheets, and all inside stared in dead silence at their fallen leaders.  
  
Each was lost in their own thoughts, each thinking the same thing. Everyone knew. They knew Spot Conlon and Jack Kelly would be the new leaders; and they knew that nothing would ever be the same. they knew without speaking.  
  
(People talking without speaking,  
People hearing without listening,  
People writing songs that voices never share  
And no one dare  
Disturb the sound of silence.)   
  
No one ever knew how long they stood there, their eyes riveted to the forms on the floor. Lightning flashed dangerously, lighting up nothing and no one but the two leaders on the floor, and the two leaders standing over them.  
  
And everyone knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they would all be leaders forever. For as long as time went on, nothing and no one could extinguish their fire.  
  
And for as long as they stood there, it very well may have been hours, Spot felt himself losing control.  
  
It was just all too much. He had expected people to get hurt, to be wounded, but for someone, especially Top, to die...It was impossbile for him to wrap his mind around.  
  
And at long last, when he felt as if he would throw himself upon the floor to die along with his leader, Spot, looking down, stepped from the common room and into the night under the watchful eyes of the newsies.   
  
(In restless dreams I walked alone  
Narrow streets of cobblestone,  
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,  
I turned my collar to the old and damp  
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light  
That split the night,  
And touched the sound of silence.)   
  
There he stood, standing, as lightning lit the sky once again. Spot stood in the footprints tracked with their leaders' blood, his hands in his hair. His mind traveled back to the day of fighting, the night of death.  
  
The morning went by viciously, mostly punches and tackles. But as the afternoon wore on, and tempers flared, Spot knew it had to end. But it didn't until late that night.  
  
The boys fought with valor and dignity, all in near silence, throughout the day. Few words were spoken. It was quick, efficient, and secretive.  
  
They fought into the night, strength and patience waning. Harlem brought out knives. And then the real hell broke loose.  
  
It all began in the darkness of the wee hours of the morning when Skittery was stabbed in the arm. Mush jerked off his shirt immediately, wrapping it around the wound as Skittery screamed in anguish, his yells fading to silence as he was carried away by Pie-Eater and Mush, little Boots running off before them to alert the girls.  
  
And after he was gone, Harlem stopped flaunting their knives and started using them for murder.  
  
Jack and Spot were fighting a group of Harlem newsboys, and winning, when out of nowhere, the fight between Top and the Harlem leader escelated. As Top lunged into the leader, the knife the boy held in his hand was up and ready.  
  
The sharp, lethal blade sliced into Top's neck, and by sheer dumb luck, hit his life force--a vein.  
  
In a torrent of unbearable suffering, Top managed to cover the gash with his hand and use the cane he still gripped in his right hand to thrust it into the boy's upper abdomen, creating a large, shiny welt, disorienting him enough for Quail to rush in.   
  
Top staggered off to the side, collapsing into a pile of crates. Spot and Jack, noticing the bright red splash of color out of the corner of their eyes, finished off the Harlem boys with a few swings of their fists, and rushed over.  
  
"Top...You okay?" Spot asked, his eyes wide as he stared at the blood seeping through Top's long fingers.  
  
Top opened his mouth to speak, and wet coughs wracked his powerful body. He put the hand not on his neck to his mouth, and when he pulled it away, his fingers were coated and dripped with blood.  
  
Jack gaped like a fish out of water, his eyes as big as saucers as he stared incredulously at the devil red blood on Top's hands.  
  
As Top looked up, frightened panic bulging in his dark eyes, blood stained his lips and teeth as it pooled up from his throat.  
  
"Spot," he murmered, his eyes pleading for help, for anything, "Take...Take care of 'em. I love 'em. You'll be great Cole."   
  
Spot blanched at the sound of his name, and hot, unshed tears sprang to his eyes as the helplessness of the situation hit him full force.  
  
"Jared I can't," Spot knew he was pleading with God now, not Top, for only He would be able to save him now.  
  
"You can do anything Cole. Go get 'em." And with those final words, Top seized Spot's cold hand in his own bloodied one and squeezed with all the strength he had left, which was not much; and was still.  
  
And as Spot and Jack turned away, hearts pounding in rage and shock, they saw a fight between two boys stop as they both took notice of the dead stillness of Brooklyn's leader.  
  
One boy, a Manhattan newsie, and the other, a boy from Harlem, stared at Top before looking back at one another.  
  
The boy from Harlem looked back at his foe, and his eyes lost the glow of fight. Spot knew he had been fighting only to protect his 'family's' honor. The boy nodded slowly to the Manhattan newsie, and turned away.   
  
As Quail had lunged at the Harlem leader, a large group of monsterous boys had jumped into the crazed passion that was the fight. Fists flew, knives glinted, and feet kicked, and when they finally backed away, Quail lay dead at the bottom.  
  
And now, back in Brooklyn, they didn't even know what happened to Quail. He had been stabbed, punched, and kicked, but they didn't know what had actually been the fatal injury.  
  
And now they were both gone. Jack Kelly, fifteen, and Spot Conlon, thirteen; fourteen the very next day, Tuesday; were leaders.  
  
And what a present to receive. Death.   
  
"You got what you wanted Conlon," Spot muttered to himself now. Power, leadership, everything he had wanted since he and Katie had left. And Brooklyn was the best of both worlds. The heart and morals of Manhattan, with the strength of Harlem, curse them.  
  
In the rising dawn, Spot heard crunching footsteps appraoching. He turned, looking at the ground first, taking notice of the freshly fallen snow, snow that covered the footprints filled with blood.  
  
Anger surged through Spot's veins as he realized that no one would know of the tragic deaths besides those directly involved.   
  
But as he looked up, his anger, and his mask of control fell away.   
  
Katie stood there in front of him, her skirts blwoing in the breeze as they had that first day in the City, when everything was alright, uncertain, but alright.  
  
They gazed at oneanother, not speaking, just looking. Katie opened her mouth and voiced the one thing Spot needed to hear.  
  
"Cole." As her lovely voice said his name, his real name, it broke; and Katie looked a him, pain and confusion in her eyes.  
  
"God Katie." Spot could barely speak. "What have I done?"   
  
With those words of self-blame, Cole Conlon, the scared little boy, returned for a brief second, and Katie, noting the fact that his beautiful eyes screamed for her, rushed to him, the details of her dream flooding back.  
  
He had returned. And two had not.  
  
And as they embraced, Cole crumpled into the snow, pulling Katie with him, where they sat, shivering, holding one another until the streets filled with people who knew nothing of the horror-filled, terror-run night Brooklyn and Manhattan had endured.  
  
Those people had no dead leaders in their homes, no blood on their hands, and no loss in their souls.  
  
And they didn't have to take care of forty boys just like them.  
  
They weren't scared of the coming noon, scared of the coming evening, scared of the coming dawn.  
  
But Cole Conlon was. And to lead, he couldn't be.  
  
Spot Conlon had to lead. And lead he would.  
  
In the days that followed, the girls shed tears and the boys tried not to, some succeeding, and some failing.  
  
Mrs. Pan, who's family had a plot in the cemetary, gave the fallen heros two graves, the places reserved for the sons she could never have.   
  
At the sevice, no minister spoke, no priest offered the words of God, no fool talked of God's Will.  
  
As the people present looked into the open coffins, the sun hitting the faces of the boys, lighitng them up like angels, they knew that these boys would be there for them, heart and soul, within the new leaders.  
  
And Katie looked into Top's face, the face of a boy she hadn't really known, but learned to trust with her life, and she knew he was the most beautiful creature to ever walk the planet. His clothes were clean, a bandana from Jack covering his neck. His face was immaculate and gorgeous, and his dark lashes spilled onto his tanned cheeks. The dark curls that all women so loved cascaded onto his forehead, curling in a way that melted Katie's heart.  
  
She felt Scots weeping beside her, and the lovely young Scottish woman reached out trembling fingers and touched the cheek of a man she hadn't known she had loved until he was gone.   
  
Quail lay as well, his blonde hair shaggy but neat, and his eyelids covering those cat-green eyes that pierced your soul with their cool heat. His dewy complexion glistened and his light pink lips sat in a full, relaxed pout.   
  
They both looked so alive, so peaceful. Katie almost expected Top to climb out of his coffin and ask them, in harsh tones, why the hell they weren't out selling. But he didn't.  
  
And Spot walked to the front of the large group as boys lowered the now covered coffins into the ground.  
  
"We gotta move on. We gotta pay our respects, and keep livin'."   
  
("Fools" said I, "You do not know  
Silence like a cancer grows  
Hear my words that I might teach you,  
Take my arms that I might reach you."  
But my words like silent raindrops fell  
And echoed  
In the wells of silence)  
  
Feeling his breaths weaken, and his resolve to move on fade, Spot fell to his knees. Clasping his hands, he bowed his head and prayed.  
  
"Come on God. If you're up there, come on. They were great men, God; great leaders, and they didn't deserve to die. They died protecting all of us, and each other. Just, just let 'em know that...That we love 'em."  
  
And as he spoke, the newsboys and girls looked toward one another, and slowly fell to their knees on the wet grass; some looking down, others looking up, trying in vain to stop the scalding tears they felt on their cheeks.  
  
"Please God. I...We need your help God. We don't know what to do. Help us God." His voice broke as he spoke, and as he continued to pray, it shook with the grief of a young man lost and alone. And terrified.  
  
(And the people bowed and prayed  
To the neon God they made  
And the sign flashed out its warning,  
In the words that it was forming  
And the sign said "The words of the prophets  
are written on the alley walls  
And tenement halls."  
And whispered in the sounds of silence.) 


	7. Crotona Park

No one knew what to do with themselves. It was like the small war that no one knew about had shaken the very fiber and fabric of their lives. It was as if Top and Quail had been blankets to all of them, keeping them warm, safe, and protected; and then when no one was looking, someone snatched the blankets off, leaving them cold and shivering. And exposed to the world around them.

Manhattan went back home, and knew that things did not end with the death of their leader. They had only just begun...

Kid awoke in the hospital, a few friends by his side. He wasn't able to sit up or stand, and a clean white bandage that had to be changed five times a day covered the empty socket where his left eye had once perched.

And, for some reason, they did not tell him. He knew of Skittery's injury, knew of his quick recovery. He knew of the battles the boys had faced in his honor. But he didn't know the most important aspect of the war. The leaders had died. 

They did not tell him simply because they feared his reaction. Kid was the kind of person who blamed himself for things that happened to others if he was even the least bit involved. 

No one blamed him for the leaders' deaths. It wasn't his fault; it could have easily been any one of them who had been soaked that badly. But if the boys faced battles in his honor, they knew Kid would see it that Top and Quail died in his honor; died because of him.

It wasn't that they didn't want to tell him the truth. It was simply that nobody wants to put their friend through so much emotional pain just as he is recovering from an intense physical pain. No one.

And no one wanted to be the one to tell him. 

But he found out soon enough. 

The day Kid was finally well enough to go back to the lodging house, and selling; was a day that no newsy will forget. The handsome, blonde haired young man, a fresh fourteen, fifteen soon, walked out of the hospital they had no means of paying for on a sunny day. The sunlight rebounded and reflected onto the snow and into their eyes, blinding them with its brilliance.

Kid was happy that day, at least in the morning, and he joked about his missing eye, laughing that he had half as much glare now. The suede patch he wore over his left socket suited him; made him look rugged and suave.

Mush and Skittery walked with him, the only traces of Skittery's injury being a bright pink scar, the stitches having been removed a few days earlier, which would soon lighten into white. The war, nearing two weeks gone by since, seemed like a distant memory, a bad dream on that morning as the sun played off the ice in the streets.

But someone slipped up. Mush and Skittery were joking around, pushing each other around, when suddenly, out of the blue, Kid made a comment that shook them into stillness.

"I wonder what Quail's gon' say when 'e gets a load'a this t'ing," he said, indicating the path over his eye.

Skittery and Mush stopped slap-boxing, and looked at each other, wondering what to do now that they were backed into this corner. Their grins faded slowly as they realized that now was the time they had to tell him. 

"What's with you?" Kid asked, his lip curling in confusion.

Mush shuffled his feet as he looked at the ground as if the cobblestone fascinated him into silence. Skittery, taking note of this, sighed and made a mental pledge to kick Mush's tail for this one.

"Nothin'. But uh. Damn."

Kid's mind, now reeling with suspicion that something was off, thought back to times when he himself had asked about Quail and his questions had been skirted.

"What happened?" 

Skittery looked at his friend, into his one blue eye, and licked his lips in nervous bewilderment. How do you tell someone something like that? That was a question he did not know how to answer.

"The war, Kid. He--"

"Was he hoit?"

"Yeah, but. And he--" Skittery, glancing, panicked, at Mush, faltered.

Mush swallowed hard and pushed his own palms together, pursing his lips. He knew it wouldn't take Kid long to figure out what had happened, what had really happened.

"He died din' he." The words that Kid had meant to say in horror, in terror, in shock, came out flat and devoid of any emotion whatsoever.. He should have known. They didn't say anything about their leader, he never visited--it was as if he didn't exist.

Mush and Skittery's awkward silence was all the confirmation he needed.

Suddenly, all of  his calm, cool, serene manner disappeared. Filled with dismay and a dread as such he had never felt, he ran. He ran in hysteria, simply broke away from his friends and fled.

Kid never knew, looking back on that day, how long he ran, or how far. all he knew that once he was just plumb tuckered out, he stopped, panting, adrenalin flooding through his veins.

Looking up, he realized that he was standing right in the middle of the street, and, feeling that his recent brush with death was enough for awhile, he turned and walked, shaking with fatigue from his blind race through the City; to an alley where he stopped to get his bearings.

Millions of billons of thoughts raced and tumbled through his mind, jumping over one another with such a speed it made him dizzy. Kid leaned against the brick wall of the building behind him.

_'What have I done?'_ he asked himself_. 'I got 'em killed. What kinda person am I?! I can't go back dere. If I go back, dey'll toin on me. Dey's jus' been waitin' to soak me again...'_

Absurd thoughts, of course, for the majority didn't think any less of him as a result, and those that did kept mum for the single reason that they respected their fallen leader enough to know that his approval of such things would be nonexistent. 

He slowly slid down the rough brick wall, his shirt raising just enough so that the wall scratched up his back. He didn't even notice. 

He sat there, trembling, quaking in his own skin that felt hot yet cold all at the same time; for hours. The sun rose to its noon peak, and continued its travel west; and Kid sat in silence all the same.

And that's how they found him: head down, shaking with intense cold, sitting on the frigid ground in a small ball, looking like a lost puppy.

The two boys entered the alley, looking for a way to ward off the arctic wind that was swooping in like a bat out of hell.

They stopped short, however, upon seeing the huddled form on the ground.

"What the--"

"He dead?"

"No I--well--"

At that, Kid snapped out of his abstraction and looked up at them.

The two boys looked at him, taking in his blue lips, trembling with cold, his blonde hair, shaggy and wind-blown. Their eyes stopped, of course, on the patch that covered his left eye.

"What's yer deal?" The taller one asked, shaking his dark hair out of his face. He grinned as he said it, revealing a wide, straight-toothed smile. His thick eyebrows arched upwards as he turned his tan face down toward Kid's own.

Kid stared at him, silent.

"Can ya tawk kid?" the other asked, piping up. The wind still howling into the all-too-outdoors' alley whipped his fluffy chocolate hair into his dark eyes. He pushed it away impatiently. As he waited for Kid's answer, he rubbed his thin nose, leaving a smudge of something sooty on the end.

"Yeah. Can you shut up?" Kid asked, his already vulnerable emotions making him less friendly than was usual.

As the second looked at him, seemingly debating whether or not he should punch a kid with one eye, his friend laughed, a loud, cheerful laugh that involved all of his top teeth and a glimpse of his bottoms as his lips stretched back into a grin and his eyes twinkled with humor.

Kid stood, feeling a memory of a smile slip across his mouth. 

"Where ya from kid?" Asked the laugher, who seemed to be friendlier than his companion.

"'Hattan," Kid replied nonchalantly, wondering if the two boys before him would know where he ended up and how far he had to walk back. That is, if he went back.

"Whaddya do there?" He asked, his eyes darting from the clothing Kid wore to his friend.

"I was a newsy. Still am, I guess."

The welcoming expression on the friendly boy's face changed faster than a bullet firing from a gun.

"You bettah get da hell outaa heah kid," the silent, slightly moody one said after a pause.

"Why?" Kid looked around him. He peeked out into the street beyond the alley, and a street sign caught his eye. 125th street. As the realization hit him like a sack full of potatoes swung into his gut, Kid stared at the boys. 

"You're in Harlem." The statement confirmed his fears.

Rendered speechless, Kid stared at the two boys. Suddenly, he wondered how they knew of the obvious danger. Skittery and Mush had said that only newsies of Brooklyn, Harlem, and Manhattan knew of the fight, and these boys were not any Kid knew to be in Brooklyn, and they certainly weren't from Manhattan.

In spite of himself, Kid backed up into the wall. 

The two boys before him didn't have to ask why. They could tell the poor blonde kid knew that they were Harlem newsies, and they knew he thought they would kill him as soon as they found the right opportunity.

Kid licked his lips and thought, panicking, that maybe he could still run the three and a half miles back to Manhattan before dark, and before these boys decided to soak him; or worse.

"Pipe down kid, we ain' gonna soak ya. From what I can see, you been soaked enough for all three of us. So you're the one who started the war, huh?"

"Huh?"

"Well we hoid that when some kid in 'Hattan got soaked by Fox and his cronies; Brooklyn and 'Hattan banded tagethah and we went ta war cuz of it."

This was not what Kid needed to hear. He slumped down onto a wooden crate that lay upside-down on the ground. 

"You blame yaself doncha?" The friendlier of the two asked him, crouching down to his level.

"He blames hisself for what? Nobody di—oh wait." The second raised his eyebrows quickly and turned away, his mouth conveying his embarrassment in an _I-didn't-say-nothin' _expression.

"I blame you! You and ya friends! You and ya leadah! If it wasn't fah you, I wouldn'y be like dis!" He motioned angrily to his patch and stood before continuing his tirade, suddenly not full of guilt, but rather, anger. "Dis ain' my fault, its yours! If you hadn't soaked kids from 'Hattan, an' if you hadn't killed Top and Quail—"

The moody one cut him off, holding up a hand and turning to his fellow Harlemite. "Well, well, well Bumlets. Looks like we got an angry newsy on oah hands. Think we should tell 'im it wasn't _us_ who soaked him oah his friends?"

"I dunno Snoddy, think he'd listen ta reason an' realize we was only defendin' the honah of ouah newsies? Of ouah toif? Dat we didn' soak nobody, and we didn't 'spect, oah _want_ nobody to get kil't?"

"Well, now, I ain't shoah Bum. Let's ask him."

They turned to Kid, who stood, staring at them, wondering what the hell had just happened.

"D'ya know how much pain ev'ryone in Manhattan and Brooklyn is in right now? Cause a ya damn borough's  honah?!"

"No. Do you?" The boy who called himself Snoddy shot back, raising his eyebrows, a quirk Kid quickly learned he had.

Even prideful Kid didn't have an answer. Truth was, he hadn't been back since that night; and when he'd found out, he'd ran.

His silence was answer enough.

"Hey look, as soon as we heard woid dat they was really dead, we left the newsies. We ain't no killahs. When I saw 'em go down, I backed off; left. I wasn't even in that scuffle that killed 'em," Bumlets said, crouching to look into the eye of the boy who had sat down as he spoke.

"Neither was I."

And Kid believed them, for no one could look into someone's eyes and lie like that. And the blatant honesty reflecting in both their eyes confirmed his faith.

He nodded. 

Both boys sat next to him on the cold ground, and they began to talk.

By the end of the hour, both boys had taken to calling him Blink; for whenever the patched boy blinked, they looked at him carefully, wondering if had just _winked_ at them.

"Did you just _wink_ at me?" Snoddy asked, peering into his face, incredulous.

"Huh? No…I blinked?" 

At his bewildered response, both Harlemites cracked up, and, cautiously, Kid joined in.

After a series of _you gotta go back_'s, Kid stood, sighing.

"I can't. They's awl gonna be so mad. It's 'cause a me their leadah's dead. An' even if 'Hattan don't soak me, Brooklyn will."

Both boys had to admit that that was a definite possibility.

"But if Manhattan ain' mad, an' I can almost guarantee dat dey won't be; won't dey protect ya from Brooklyn?" Bumlets asked, his eyes serious, his brows furrowed together.

"I dunno, sure." Kid shrugged.

"Well Blink, I say ya gotta go back. Like they say, if ya nevah _take_ the risk, you'll never know if it woulda been woith it." Snoddy supplied something his mother used to say, way back when.

"Who's they?" Kid asked, his face showing his doubt.

"I dunno, pro'lly someone dead 'cause he took a risk not woith it," Snoddy replied, shrugging.

Kid and Bumlets laughed, but shivered in the coming night.

"Night's approachin' fellas. So Blink, ya headin' back home?" Bumlets asked, glancing skyward as the sun rode into the west like a knight on a horse of red sky.

"I dunno. You guys headin' with me?"

Snoddy put up his hands and backed away, pulling Bumlets with him.

"Whoa whoa wait. It's one t'ing fer you to go back; I mean, you belong there. But us?" He motioned to himself and Bumlets, "We'd be soaked for sure if we set foot in 'Hattan. I mean…ya know…"

"Yeah but…ya gotta come…ya gotta!" 

"No."

But, thanks to the powers of persuasion and the power of guilt-tripping people in the process of bending them to your will, they went. Reluctantly, hesitantly, and altogether terrified; they went.

Once the three boys arrived in Manhattan, at the lodging house on 37th Street, they halted on the cobblestone.

"We can't go in Blink." Bumlets voiced exactly what Snoddy was thinking.

"How 'bout we don't tell 'em yer from Harlem? How 'bout you're from…Crotona Park?" Kid suggested.

Bumlets smiled at Blink's cunning. 

"Sure," he and Snoddy said in unison.

As the three boys entered, all boys in the vicinity looked up. As they caught sight of Kid, their faces melted with relief.

"God, where the hell did ya go?!"

"We got boys out lookin' for ya!"

"Why did you run?!"

"Kid! What the hell!"

"What the hell?!" Several boys ended the questions together.

Kid, grinning at their welcome, told them of his apprehensions. 

"Come on! We don't blame ya!"

"Yeah! Any one of us coulda got soaked!"

"It was gonna happen anyway!"

"Yeah!"

"Really!" 

"Yeah!"

His worries and fears vanishing with every beat his heart made, and every breath he took, Kid found himself laughing.

He turned to Bumlets and Snoddy, who stood off to the side, near the doorway, the wind at their thinly clothed backs.

"Fellas, this is Bumlets and Snoddy,"  he motioned to each boy in turn, "They's from Crotona Park."

Boots, only just eleven, piped up, excited. "Wow Kid, you'se went awl da way ta Crotona Park?"

Kid nodded, smiling a secret smile that he turned and shared with the boys from Harlem.

Soon thereafter, Jack, Mush, and Skittery ran through the door, nearly bowling over Bumlets and Snoddy.

They barely gave the two boys a glance as they surveyed the room, all three pairs of eyes stopping on Kid at the same moment.

"God damn you Kid!" Skittery said angrily, backhanding Kid in the abdomen hard enough to sting but not hard enough to really hurt.

"We been lookin' for ya awl damn day, ya scab!" Jack chimed in, flipping his cowboy hat off his head onto his back.

"Kid! We was all ovah the City!" Mush concluded, his dark eyes wide.

"Sorry fellas. I…I thought you'd be…"

"He thought you'd awl blame him," Bumlets supplied into the silence.

"WHY?!" Nearly every newsboy in the joint responded in unison.

"And who're you?" Jack asked, turning toward Bumlets and Snoddy for the first time.

"Bumlets and Snoddy!" Boots cried out. "From Crotona Park!" he added.

"Damn Kid! You went that far?" Skittery asked.

Kid merely shrugged.

By the end of the night, the boys had adopted Bumlets and Snoddy (from Crotona Park), into their band of newsboys, and Kid was known as Kid Blink.

But across the Bridge, in a not-so-distant land called Brooklyn, silence prevailed.

As Manhattan celebrated, Brooklyn was still lost. And Cole Conlon still played on the surface.

Until one day, when all that changed; as it had to.

And Spot Conlon stepped onto the docks and said a final goodbye. A goodbye to Top, Quail, and above all else, Cole Conlon.

It was the end of the past. And the beginning of an era.

The beginning of a legend, of an icon, of a God.


	8. The Girl I Mean To Be

**_(Author's Note}:_**

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Hello, my lovelies! Alright. New plan! I have officially decided that from now on, each chapter will be based on a song! (Only Skittles knows the list, and she will remain to be the one and only, so there's surprise. For you guys at least, I kinda screwed you over Ittz. Not totally though!) Anywho…This chapter is a song from _The Secret Garden_, called "The Girl I Mean To Be". For lyrics to the song, which will not be here, look in my bio –points to name link at top of page- so go check that out! 

.

From now on, all chapters will have accompanying lyrics in my bio…So don't fall behind! If you do, Email me and I'll send ya the lyrics aysap!

Luv and Mush pants,

Glimm

**_{The Girl I Mean To Be}:_**

Katie, sighing heavily, trudged her way up the fire escape. The bitter cold air stung her cheeks, her hands, her neck. Her hair blew around her as a gale of wind hit her full-force. 

"This is the second New York City winter I've been through, and I don't think I'll ever get used to the cold," She murmured to herself, rubbing her nose with her free hand.

Settling down on the cold gravel of the roof, right under the awning created by the roof, Katie pulled, from the thick wool blanket around her person, a diary.

The smooth, almost silky burgundy cover shone in the late afternoon sun, the kind of winter sun that seems more golden than yellow, brighter than summer sun.  

Pulling out the small pencil she had nicked off one of the smaller boys who went to school in the mornings and met the others on Newspaper Row for the afternoon edition, Katie began to write.

_December 11, 1898_

_Dear Diary, _

_What time of the day will it have to be before Spot, Cole, whatever you want to address him as, notices me? Me, little old, plain, ugly Katie, the little girl he's known almost all his life, but forgot in less than a week?_

_In the whole time we've been here, we've only really been truly together once. That bitter cold, grey morning after the war, more than a year ago. I remember him walking, I remember calling his name, his real name, and I remember how he sat down into the snow, pulling me with him. _

_After the funerals, he went back to Spot Conlon. Would you know, Diary, that I believe he threw Cole away? My beautiful, amazing, wondrous Cole?_

_When we arrived in New York, late August of last year, I never knew that in little more than three months, that young, small Cole would become leader. Even now, he's only fifteen, just turned two weeks ago._

_It seems amazing to me that, with all the milksops he apparently beds, that he has never so much as looked at me. For after all, I was the first girl his own age that he knew. But, I suppose, that when girls like those come around, he'd rather go with them over me. _

_I'd like to say that I knew it was going to happen, that it was just like him to go for the beauties and bed them, that he had always been flirtatious with the young ladies in the village; but I can't._

_Somehow I always believed, without any sign, without any invitation to do any such thing, that I would marry and spend my life with Cole. Until we came here, I didn't realize that it could be any other way. I didn't realize that such a thought as that was an unusual, even ludicrous thought. _

_Do you know what I want most in the world Diary? I do not want riches, or beautiful gowns, though I would not say no to either. I only want a man to love me as much as I can love him. Tomorrow I will be fifteen, and I've never kissed a boy._

_Scots, who is only just seventeen, has kissed many boys, and her beau, a beautiful young man with a respectable, steady job as a legal assistant, wants to marry her as soon as he is through with law school. _

_Imagine, to be married to a lawyer, to never have to worry about working, to never have to worry about putting food in your mouth, about having warm clothing or a nice bed._

_Imagine having a man to love. Imagine having children to love. Scots would like to have lots of little ones, I think, for any time she sees a young mother with her sweet, rosy-cheeked little baby, he eyes light up and her pretty face seems to glow. _

_And with the way he looks at her, I don't believe he would mind doing what is necessary to give her all the children she desires. And I love the way he looks into her eyes as he calls her "Lisa". _

_But the thing is, I know that as soon as she comes back, she lights a candle for Top, her first love who never knew her feelings. _

_But I also know that, though her love for Top will never die, her love for Patrick Moore is deeper, heavier, and altogether more beautiful. _

_I want that. _

_Why is that, when I do find myself near Spot, that my hear pounds so loudly in my ears and my vision blurs because my blood is flooding my body, and I can't speak._

_This young man does odd things to my body. He makes me feel cold and warm at the same time, and he makes me feel full and empty at the same time. He fills me with happiness and a deep, bitter desire to weep at the same time._

_This young man is a contradiction in human form. I do believe that when he nears me, he knows that he makes me feel as if my veins hold too much blood for my body to contain, that he knows that he makes my knees go so very weak. _

Remembering the weakness he implanted in her body, Katie felt her heart surge with anger and longing at the same time, and she wondered whether he would ever just fill her with one, solid, unshakable emotion: Love.

_Some days I feel as if all I want to do is run to him, grab hold of him and kiss him until the cows come home, which they never will, for in the City, there are no cows. And yet other days I feel like running to him, grabbing hold of him, and shaking him whilst I scream into him eardrums that he's a idiot, that he's an ass that needs to wise up and realize what he does to me._

_One must sometimes wonder where a girl like me gets such phrases. Bourbon, Grin, Mugger, and many more give them to me at very loud volumes every single day. _

_And, to celebrate the diverse language they inject into my already large vocabulary, thanks to that tutor Cole and I had those many years ago on the farm, I will say another thing._

_I want Spot, Cole, whomever he is, to jump in the hay with me. I want him to roll between the sheets with me. No, better than that, I want him to make love to me._

_For Scots says that any man can give you a roll in the hay, but only the man you're destined to spend your life with can make love to you._

Remembering the way Scots always looked as though she were floating on a cloud up to the heavens when she got back from a night out with Pat, Katie smiled wistfully.

_But she would know that, not because she passes herself around, but because so many gorgeous men want to have her, want to bed her. Why, look at her! With that deep brown mane of lovely hair, her tanned skin, her honey eyes, and her high, elegant cheekbones, every man looks at her as she passes. _

_I would love to be looked at that way by every man I pass._

_But I wouldn't need any of them to show interest in me if I could only get one to look my way._

Pausing, Katie struggled to compose herself enough to make her hand hold steady as she wrote with the quickly diminishing writing utensil. 

_How come I can't ever be the girl I mean to be around him? How come I can't ever just…I don't know, be desirable to him? _

_Why is it that it never seems to work when I try to think of clever ways to entice him. _

_True, I've never plucked up the courage to actually carry out my plans, but oh, how I want to._

She paused, licking her lips. Katie's breath was sucked in suddenly as a particularly frigid blast of air reached under the roof and crept up her blanket, touching her cheeks and body, sending shivers up her spine. An idea forming in her witty mind, Katie smiled a slow, pensive smile. 

_What I need is a plan, a foolproof plan…_

_Yours in trust,_

Katie 

**_{Shout-outs}_**

**Skittles: **you know you're my girl, and I just want to thank you for all the help you gave me on the SOS chapters, and for all the encouragement I've gotten from you the whole time I've been slowly writing this fic. And yep, Crotona Park rocks man. And all my info was geographically correct! Yay me!

**Plaid Pajamas:** Sorry I DID keep you waiting so long, but at least you didn't have to wait in between for all the other chapters, you lucky dog! And awww! Your reviews are immensely sweet! Thanks so much! I hope you enjoyed this one!

**Jo:** Please don't faint! I like having my reviewers conscious so they can r/r as soon as I call them to do so! Thanks for the review chica!

**Drama Queen:** Thanks, I try. I like bein' smooth. It fun for me! I hope this chapter didn't un-hook you. –cringe-

**Jade Shintz: **Wow. –blushes- Thanks. High praise sweetie. I mean, epic? That means like, classic, larger than life, impressive, grand…-goes on congratulating and complimenting self- Thanks! –head swells with pride-

**Southern Spell:** Thanks, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**Anna W:** Thank you so much for your lovely reviews that make me feel good! –throws you roses- you're a peach.

**K.M Sykes**: Thanks for giving me the abbreviation, it takes a lot less time than typing it all out! –grin- Thanks! I like how I brought them in too, and I appreciate your praise! –claps for you- And hey, go read "I Cannot Be God" by **Mush's Skittles** if you wanna see where I sort of got those last lines—Not really, but they fit with her amazing story!

**Rumor:** Yes, Blink is an idiot at times, yet we all luffle him immensely, I'm sure! –wink- You know you love Blink! And thank you so much for the other compliments, I won't list them here, for my head will swell larger than it already has as I reread my reviews for these shout-outs…But Grazi!

**_{End Notes}:_**

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Lyrics to the song "The Girl I Mean To Be" should be, or will be as soon as FFN decided to listen to me, in my bio. So go check those out, to really give yourself a feel for the chapter!!!

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	9. I'm Gonna Make You Love Me

**_{I'm Gonna Make You Love Me}_**

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Never, in the history of match-making, had so many plans flopped on their faces. Scots and Katie worked tirelessly for the better part of a year trying to get Spot to acknowledge Katie's existence, and not one of their tactics had pulled through.

During the Christmas season, the girls had snuck into the boys' lodging house and hung mistletoe everywhere possible. When the annual Christmas party rolled around, there was no escaping. Or so they thought. 

Spot disappeared as soon as he entered with some red-headed floozy hot on his heels. They made their way up to the bunkroom and stayed there for the rest of the party.

When spring bounced into the City in a flurry of sunshine, Katie had tried to seize "Spring Fever", catch it a bottle, and dumb it over Spot. In essence, at least. What she really did was stand near him with Scots and talk loudly about the handsome factory workers, giggling whenever anything in pants walked by. All that really happened was that Grin, tiring of their cackles, hollered at them to shut up before he 'gave them something to scream about'. 

And even in the summer, when Spot was a late fifteen, when the newsboys went on strike, the two girls still plotted. Newsgirls didn't have much to do with the strike, except stay out of the way and follow the lead of their boys. The girls stopped selling as well, though Mugger, Scots, Katie, and the littler ones all pooled their money together to make ends meet while the strike was in motion.

When Spot came home after his stint in jail and in court, he was tired, pale, and dirty. Katie and Scots together hauled a tub of hot water up to the boys' bunkroom and set it there, complete with one of the scented soaps they used in their own lodging house. 

When a grateful but confused Spot came out of the washroom that night and asked who had done the thoughtful deed, he was met with replies of "Mouse. And Scots." And he still said naught a word.

And he still didn't do anything. 

And Katie had never been so baffled and downtrodden in her life. She never thought that he would be so difficult, so out of her reach. 

And the more she thought about it, the more she realized that that's exactly what Spot was: out of her reach. She had seen the girls he slept with; they were all beautifully curvy and amazingly gorgeous. 

And here she was, with only her hair to make her the least bit attractive. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, what she didn't know was that over the last few years she had developed heavily.

Oh, she had noticed that her breasts had swelled, but Katie was never a girl comfortable looking at herself nude. The full extent of their growth was unknown to her, as the loose, billowy tops she wore covered most of what was on top.

And what she had also not noticed, for she saw her face every day, was that her facial appearance had changed as well. Oh, she would never be as pretty as lovely Scots, but her plain face had matured into something soft, pretty, and feminine. 

And where once she been all angles, she now had subtle curves. Her hips didn't bloom in the way Scots' did, and she didn't have that perfect hourglass figure that the men wanted, but she was no longer straight as the edge of the newspaper.

Grin and Creek, sitting on the stoop on the lodging house one day, saw Scots and Katie exit their own home across the street.  Creek, suddenly starting and turning to Grin, asked, "Hey. Is Mouse gettin'…pretty?"

Grin, turning lazy eyes across the street, said casually, "I wouldn't kick her outta bed."

Despite what Katie thought, Grin and Creek weren't the only ones who noticed her transformation. 

When Katie walked by, not so much as glancing him, Spot felt his throat tighten, and his palms begin to itch with wanting to touch her.

 But that part of his life was over now. 

That life he had spent frolicking, laughing, running, and teasing with Katie had come to an end the second he had set foot in Brooklyn.

Sometimes Spot toyed with the idea that he take Katie and leave; that they go back to the country and just live—live in freedom.

But then he gazed over the docks and the streets to the boys sprawled all over creation. The boys that he was responsible for; the boys who needed him more than they could or would admit.

So he filled his nights with brainless floozies who did nothing more that pleasure him. They gave him, and themselves, sexual satisfaction, picked up their clothes and left. 

And after they had departed, Spot felt his heart blacken a bit, felt his stomach sink a little lower. The bed always seemed so cold, big, and empty—even when the girls were still there.

And when morning came and Newspaper Row loomed into sight, Spot felt his fingers ache and his neck stiffen. Another day of seeing her and not being able to speak to her for fear of bursting out in angry, frustrated shouts and asking her why she wanted everything in pants except him.

The way she flirted and batted her lashes at all his boys, all the factory boys…it killed him a little each time.

And when he walked by and she turned her eyes onto something else, it stabbed his heart a little each time.

And when he spoke to his newsies as whole and she fiddled with her fingernails, it tore his insides a little each time.

And there was nothing he could do about it; he would have to take it and take it and take it until he died.

_Wednesday, November 22, 1899_

This is stupid. Why the hell am I, Spot Conlon writing in this dumb book? Tomorrow's my birthday. Sixteen. Probably bed a whole slew of sleepers; might even get them for free. Not too excited. Only want to bed one, and she ain't no sleeper. I don't even want to pen her name; maybe if I do she'll disappear and I'll have even less of a chance than I do now. 

The war was two years ago today. Sometimes I… 

_This is dumb. I'm going to bed._

Sure enough, the next day dawned bright and unnaturally warm. Spot got out of his bunk underneath Bourbon and stretched; he turned this way and that, feeling his back crack like a thousand hailstones on the roof. Sighing, satisfied that he wasn't going to creak, Spot stifled a yawn and trudged to the washroom.

In the girls' House, Scots, Mugger, and Katie were already up, brushing hair, washing faces, smoothing dresses. When they finished, they awakened the younger girls, shaking them gently from sleep.

The younger boys were wakened through the yells of the older boys. One, little Stumper, felt as if a giant in bells, banging pots and pans, had wakened him. As he scampered into his knickers and yanked up his suspenders, Spot strolled by. 

The young boy hit him lightly in the side. When Spot glanced down, Stumper gave him a smile complete with gaps where his front teeth had fallen out. "Happy Birthday, Spot." The little boy said, remembering hearing the girls conversing about it the prior day.

Spot gave the boy a half smile and ruffled his shaggy strawberry blonde hair. The boy's bright green eyes sparkled as he scurried off to join his friends. 

As the newsboys stepped outside into the dazzling sunlight, the girls a little ways ahead, Spot felt a weight descend on his shoulders. 

He remembered how, two years ago, he had been sitting outside in the snow. He looked down. Right there. The snow had begun to cover the blood that had dripped almost sorrowfully onto it, and he had, in a fleeting moment of weakness, pulled Katie into his arms and sat there with her. He remembered the way passerby had stared at the two street rats that sat, encased in one another as the sky lightened to a hazy grey. 

Shaking himself back to the present, Spot reached Newspaper Row and bought his papers without really concentrating on the action.

As he set off to his selling destination, Katie passed by. As she walked by, not looking at him, Spot stared at her, the way her hips swayed under her skirts, the way her forearms flexed slightly as she clutched her forty papers. 

Right as she walked in front of him, Spot looked away. In murmurs, he heard words in what he knew as Katie's voice.

"Happy Birthday, Spot." 

But she couldn't have said it, could she? She had been facing away from him.  It must have been Scots or…But no, Scots had turned back only a split second before, back to get one of the younger girls. Only Katie remained. It had to have been her.

But…she _never_ talked to him. Not ever. Not since that day at the beginning of the strike when he had told Manhattan no.

"You asked for it, Conlon." A voice had said.

Spot had whirled to face the speaker. _Her._

"What're you talkin' about?" He had asked, angry and yet happy that she had acknowledged him.

"You told them to show you. If I know Jack, he will. You'll be dragged into this yet."

And before he could reply, she had turned away. 

She had been right: Soon after his conversation with Jack, a little birdie had run to Spot from way of Manhattan and told him of the stand-off Jacky-Boy's newsies were planning. He had gone, knowing trouble would be brewing, and srue enough, he had had to save the tails of the boys. But after he had arrived, the boys had proved themselves to be tough. He remembered Mush's look of glee when he, Spot, had popped up. He remembered the shouts of relief when he had swung down and opened the gates to a mob of Brooklynites. 

Now here he was, standing alone on his sixteenth birthday. Katie had long since walked off. Spot shook himself to clear his head; and he walked to his selling spot.

Somehow, even though she had wished him a happy birthday, he felt dejected. 

But little did he know, Katie had big plans for his birthday. 

Little did _she_ know how hard they would be to pull off.

**_{EndNotes}_**

Go read Amazing Grace, by Skimmers Conlon O'Leary Meyers!

**_K.M Sykes_**: Girl, yes, I know. I suck at updating. But oh freakin' well. I get there! Thanks doll, I liked the diary thing as well…it amuses me. (grins)

**_Anna W_**.: Wow girl, you are awesome. I loooove compliments! I'm sorry! Don't let me kill you! Please live, I need my reviewers alive!!!! 

**_Jade_**: (falls over) You can't hold out on me! I need praise! Kidding, thanks though doll, your praise keeps me goin'!

**_Chalyce: _**Awwwwwwww (tears up) thank you sweetie! Thanks so much! I love bein' awesome! And yes, Spot is an ass in a big way, but no worries…hopefully this chapter has sorted  you out?

**_Rumor_**: Yep, much love to Crotona Park and all its awesomeness! (huggles Crotona-Park!newsboys) and they're just so cute!! Thanks, and yes. Blink is awesome. 

**_SapphireSkye_**: thanks for the compliments, and the suggestion! Hope you liked this one girly!

**_Raeghann_**: (!) Ack! I lurve you mucho much! Where have you BEEN?!?!?!?!?!!?!? (falls over) my Lohr girl, you tryin' to kill me?! I need Glimmer-fic!updates. (dances) Thank you!!!!!!! That's high praise coming fromsomeone with as much talent as you have.

**_Ravenclawer:_** Awwww thanks! Yes, I know…I'm a little wary of the fact that my ploy could get too overused….But thanks hun, I'm glad my characters are un Mary-Sure ish…it means a lot!! Tell me if I start to slip, and I'll fix it! (huggles)

**_Skittles: _** (guilty grin) Yep, thought you'd like that. And yes, considering that book was based on research, I figured I'd be wise to call it Newspaper Row. (beams) thanks girly! And no problem whatsoever…anything come of that?!

**_Sparkle_**: I'm almost sure Katie will survive. (guilty face) almost. Thanks chica!!! Much love to ya!

**_Goldstranger: _**First off: THANK YOU. I'd love to have people think of my story as a movie. Second: Wow, thank you! I appreciate that so much. I worked like a dog on those chapters. I was, of course, helped by Skittles. The two chapters took us like 4 hours to do. So thank you so much. And Katie probably will do something stupid.

**_Angelfish_**: Muchos gracias girl…I lurve you for your praise. You rock socks!!!**__**


	10. Your Body Is A Wonderland

**_Special disclaimer: This chapter contains sexual content. If you are against reading about sex, don't read any further. I don't want to be suspended or have this taken off ala "Pretend" by Mondie, which you should all read, so I'm just warning you. THERE IS SEX IN THIS CHAPTER. There. That should satisfy anyone who does that stupid reporting to FFN._**

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**_{Your Body Is A Wonderland}_**

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Look up. 

The sun used to be shining as though someone had covered it up for one hundred years and now it was out with a vengeance. 

Look up.

But then those ominous storm clouds covered it. Spot could almost hear the sun screeching in protest as the clouds shoved it back into its captive cage in the sky. 

He sighed as he made his way back to the Lodging-house. It was only 6:30, according to the bright spot in the clouds where the sun used to shine.

He allowed his mind to melt into his memories and think of Jacob, and how he had taught, on a marvelously sunny afternoon, Katie and Cole how to tell time by way of the sun's perch in the sky.

When he creaked open the heavy wooden door, he heard the faint sounds of people shushing others. His heart sank as soft girlish giggles and gruff, hushed whispers of "Shut up, will ya?" met his ears.

Not tonight.

Not a Brooklyn Bash tonight.

But even as he shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, he was engulfed in arms and clapped on the shoulders with hands he could not see. All over the room, people struck matches and expertly lit the lamps. 

They were all there. Brooklyn, Manhattan, all of them. 

All of them together for the first time in two years.  It was strange seeing them now, with their attitudes totally opposite to what they were that night not so very long ago.

They were all grinning, beaming even. There were no presents, only liquor and cards and friends who wanted to be there. 

There were girls there, yes—girls like that pretty little red-haired thing smiling coyly at him from the corner. Girls that that saucy brunette with all that on top. And girls like that dark, mysterious girl with all that shiny black hair.

They were all there for his choosing—his 'presents', if you will.

"So Spot, which one ya gonna choose, huh? We got a lotta boys who want to bed these girls—but as the birthday kid you get first pick." Grin had sidled up to him, first order of business in his mind being which girl he'd be allowed to sleep with after Spot had had his pick.

"I don't care Grin. Take whatever one you want. I don't want any of 'em." Spot refused to look at Grin.

"Don't want any of 'em?!" Grin half yelled, his eyes bulging. He looked at Spot as though trying to decide if he was alive or not. Spot didn't see. "Not even the red-head?"

"No."

"But, I…oh…" Grin's face lit up as he followed Spot's eyes to the door. The newsgirls had just entered the room, Scots, Mugger, and Mouse at the lead, the smaller girls taking tentative steps behind them.

"Shut up, asshole." Spot replied, a delayed response. Grin merely kept right on smiling that all-worldly smile.

The small girls were ushered up the stairs Mugger; up to play with the little boys; and the girls began to mingle with the newsboys, the boys of Manhattan getting an immense amount of attention.

Katie stood, flirting shamelessly with Mush, who only smiled his oh-so-insanely-adorable top-toothed grin and flirted back, neither of them particularly interested in the other. 

Spot watched them, glowering, and Katie, as if feeling his eyes, turned to him. He averted his stare to the back wall, just above her head. 

A hand brought itself down on his shoulder, making him cringe. The hand felt too small, too delicate, to be a male's hand. 

Slowly, he turned, hoping against hope that it wasn't one of the sleepers come to turn on her charm. As if charm could cover the stench of them—the stench of sweaty bodies mixed in with cheap beer and even cheaper perfume. 

But as he came face-to-face with the girl, his feeling of dread turned to surprise. It was Scots, looking absolutely beautiful, as usual. 

Standing next to her, holding her other hand was a man of around twenty. Even Spot, all-mighty sex god of Brooklyn, had to admit that this young man was a good-looking guy. Built like Mush, his face was the same dewy tan as Scots' and his hair was so black it was nearly blue. He smiled; revealing a row of perfectly shaped white teeth usually covered by full pink lips. His dark eyes glimmered as he looked down at Scots. 

"Heya Scots," Spot said tiredly.

"Not enjoying' the party, eh Spot?"  Scots asked, her obvious happiness making her usually subtle accent thicker. 

"Mmm," he replied, shooting a glance in Katie's direction. 

Scots saw this and grinned.

"Would ya stop grinnin'?! Everyone's grinnin'! You're grinnin', Grin's grinnin'…What's everybody grinnin' about?!"

Her happiness seemed to make her bold. "You, Spot. You and how you're so obviously in love with the girl you grew up with and how you don't even see that she feels the same."

His mind had stuck on one phrase. "Grew up…how do you know about that?"

"Oh, Spot. I've known since the—" she stopped. "Since she called you Cole when…" 

He nodded.

Scots noted that he hadn't yet denied loving her. He opened his mouth to do just that when he realized that this newfound valor Scots seemed to have also made him subject to a verbal bashing if he told a bold-faced lie.

"Oh! This is Pat. Patrick Moore…He…" she cast him a sidelong, adoring glance, "He's my fiancé."

"He…huh?" Spot was baffled. He's never met this joker in his life and here he was, engaged to one of his newsgirls.

"I'm her fiancé. She didn't want anyone except Katie and Amelia to know before we had our plans set." He spoke eloquently, easily, his voice like milk, flowing coolly over everything and everyone else. 

"Amelia?" Spot queried.

"Mugger," Scots replied absentmindedly. She looked as though she was itching to tell him something that at the same time, she never wanted him to know. 

"What?" he asked quickly, his paranoia on the subject of Katie unnerving him.

"We're uhm. We're leaving tonight. I just—_we_ just—wanted to wish you a happy birthday. We have to leave; we're going to Boston to meet Pat's family. "

"Oh, I—" he faltered. It was that time. All the newsies his age and older were starting to find mates, and soon they'd all leave regardless. "Well…congratulations." 

He shook Patrick Moore's hand the two turned to leave. Spot gathered that the girls had already said their goodbyes, and that everyone she had wanted to tell had already been told—he had obviously been last.

Scots turned back as soon as Pat opened the heavy door. She scampered back to Spot and gave him the first and last hug he'd ever received from her. After a slight hesitation, and a glance to Pat, who merely stood, a small smile playing on his lips, by the door, he hugged her back.

She squeezed him as a mother may a child, and he felt comforted by her arms, though he didn't let his face convey that. As she pulled away, she whispered in his ear: "Upstairs, third door to the left—eight o'clock."

And in a flash of orange sunset, she was gone.

Glancing at the clock somewhere in the vicinity of ten frozen minutes later, Spot saw that it was seven o'clock. He hadn't moved from the place Scots had left him, his mind racing to find an answer to the riddle she had left him with. 

_"Upstairs, third door to the left—eight o'clock." _Her words echoed in his ears.

Eight o'clock came. The grandfather clock in the lobby chimed eight long, melodious times. His palms itched. He licked his lips. Should he do it? What waited for him there?

His Conlon swagger returned to his walk and that nearly same old Conlon smirk played on his lips as he regained confidence. Nearly same? As he passed by the mirror that held watch over the room he gazed at his reflection. The smirk on his face was the one he'd had years ago—unpolished, unhardened, unpracticed. It meant he was still unsure of himself, but that he was putting on a brave front. 

Ignoring the looks of his friends and companions, Spot mounted the stairs. _Third door to the left_. It was a room they rarely entered. It had an old rickety bed and a scratched dresser in it, and seemed to always be freezing, whether it was the dead of winter or the inferno of summer. He remembered Deeds, the owner of the Lodging-house, telling them that back when his father first opened the place in the 1860's, that it had been his grandmother's room. When she died, no one had lived in it since. 

Pausing outside the door, he took a deep breath and turned the knob. First thing he noticed was the warmth. It filled him like a hot coffee on a February morning, making his skin tingle. He looked down at the floor, noticing the blossoms of white flowers, full and ruffled, strewn across the floorboards. His eyes traveled up to the bed. 

Usually it was naked, stripped down to the thick feather mattress. But tonight it was covered with thick white sheets that looked clean and soft. The down pillows that lay guard near the headboard were a deep, blood burgundy that matched the blanket thrown across the mattress.

Unscented candles were lit all across the room—on the dresser, the windowsill. But the room was empty. Spot stood in the doorway, bemusement slowly settling into his eyes and forehead.

A throat was cleared behind him. Startled, but not jumping, as his training as a Brooklyn badass didn't allow him to transmit shock, he turned. 

All his training flew from his bones and muscles as he was met with a vision he'd only dreamed about. Katie, wearing nothing but her tightly laced, slightly frayed corset and short, leggy bloomers stood before him. Her creamy thighs were exposed, and her breasts, untouched by sun or sin, were full and plump. 

He felt his heart thud and pound in his chest, hearing its procession in his ears. He opened his mouth to say something, _anything_, but she pressed a thin, elegant finger against his lips.

"Shh…" She murmured, her lips full and her incredibly pale green eyes sensuous and inviting. He'd never seen her like this. It demoralized him that a girl he'd known nearly all his life had this fiery, passionate, even sexy side to her that he'd never seen—obviously he'd been missing out while he'd been bedding other women. 

"Katie, what—" But yet again, she cut him off. 

"Shh. Cole, just be quiet," she spoke in a tone he'd never heard, soft yet forceful, feminine yet deep and gravelly. 

She took steps toward him, into the room, and he moved back with her, maintaining the distance between their bodies. She smiled as she closed the door, and he found himself thinking that she was without a silhouette of a doubt the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Forget that in most's eyes, Katie was merely cute enough to not 'kick outta bed.' Forget that nearly every girl downstairs was, in the general opinion, better looking than she, to Spot—no—to Cole, she was stunning.

He stepped out of his shoes as he walked backwards; they'd always been too large. His bare foot connected with a flower. Disregarding her order, he asked her, "What kind of flowers are these?"

She smiled softly in the candlelight. "White violets. They mean 'let's take a chance'." 

His mouth grew dry. 

Katie, despite her deeply sexual and smooth manner, was shaking on the inside. She wanted this more than anything, and his eyes told her that the feelings weren't one-sided, but she was terrified. 

Taking a deep, calming, steadying breath she hoped sounded erotic and sexy, Katie stepped forward faster than Spot could step back. Her fingers latched onto the buttons of his shirt and swiftly unbuttoned them. Spot looked down on her as she did so, his eyes hot and sex-starved.

She released the bottom button and slid her hands up his arms slowly, tantalizing him. He already felt himself hardening with wanting her, and his breath came out shaky and tortured. She reached his shoulders, and her warm hands swooped under his shirt collar and stroked his shoulders, taking his shirt with them. It fell to the floor behind them. 

She marveled at how strong and powerful he had become in the years since he'd first become leader. His abdominal muscles were finely outlined, and his chest was hard and stiff with muscle. His powerful shoulders gave way to intensely handsome arms. Every longed-for inch of his skin was bronzed and slightly sticky with sweat. 

She moved in and kissed him. She'd never kissed a man before, but Scots had done her best to tell her how to make it work. She hadn't known what half the things Scots had talked of were until they happened. His tongue touched her closed mouth and instinctively she opened it. Their tongues met in a flurry of pent-up desire, and she wrapped her bare arms around his neck, playing with the shags of his hair. 

They broke the kiss simultaneously, and she turned without thinking. His hands immediately went to the laces on her corset, untying them with practiced ease that made her only slightly jealous. As the strings loosened, she gasped in a large, satisfying breath of air. He finished untying and dropped the corset to the floor on top of her feet.

All too suddenly, Katie found herself unsure and nervous. It was toeing the line to parade in front of a man in barely-there bloomers and an insanely tight corset, but it was quite another to expose her top so fully.

He sensed her hesitation, and brought his big hands to her shoulders. He turned her gently, leaving her a way to resist the movement. She didn't, as he knew she wouldn't.

He took her in, her full, round breasts white as the flowers on the floor, her flat, soft abdomen, her neck. She nervously tossed her hair, and it fell in thick waves over her breasts, masking them from his view. He tenderly swooped it back over her shoulders. 

They gazed at one another for a moment longer. 

One second they were a safe distance apart, both nude from the waist up, and the next they were on the bed, remaining clothing tossed hurriedly to the floor.

He entered her slowly, knowing that it could hurt her. She gasped in pain and clutched at his shoulders, but slowly she relaxed and her grip softened. Her stroked into her—long, slow, torturous. 

A feeling she'd never known existed began to flow through her body, building in pressure and intensity until it burst and she didn't see him, didn't see the candles, didn't see anything but a shocking array of white lights. She didn't hear anything, forgot where she was, and out of her mouth escaped a moan so pleasured and pleased he smiled. Her grip retightened on his shoulders as she climaxed, and he collapsed on top of her.

After a few minutes of his head on her chest, she stroked his cheek, knowing that the first time had been for her. 

"Let's do it your way," she whispered.

His strength was miraculously returned and he slammed into her, pushing her back into the headboard. He moved fast, and again that wonderful feeling grew inside of her.

He shuddered as he came inside of her and she let out another starved moan. Again he fell on top of her, breathing harder than before, his whole body trembling. 

"That was more wondrous than any caterpillar, Cole."

He smiled, remembering that day she'd found the little creature and had found it so amazing. 

"Can we do it again, birthday boy?" she asked softly, pleadingly.

He smiled at her, no cocky and simpering smirk, but a real smile of true happiness. 

"Yes." He whispered. 


	11. Timeless

The dreams came to an end soon after that night. 

Mistress Katherine, her heart torn into shards of glass—hard, unfeeling—ran her mother's household with an iron hand. Her beauty fading as her anger deepened, Katherine's soul struggled to find release from its prison. Her soul, the one thing that still carried love, had so long been stamped down by the heartache that plagued her heart.

But when he came back, that soul flew to the surface and wrapped itself around him. Together, he and the soul of his long-lost love reunited that young servant boy with Katherine. He wormed his way into the castle, and finally, into her heart.

His face was unveiled as he lifted her own veil on their wedding day.

Katie didn't wake before her mind launched her into her next dream.

This man, her husband, had returned from the War a broken man. His body was whole, unwounded, untainted. But his spirit seemed irreversibly shattered. He didn't smile, and rarely looked at the woman he'd once loved. When he did lift his eyes to meet hers, it chilled her heart to see the deadness in them.

But one night, desperate to bring back the passion that had once emulated from him, Katherine sat down on his lap as he sat, after dinner, staring off into nothing.

He jumped, startled. She'd been so afraid to touch him since he came home; he wasn't sure he still knew what to do. 

"I love you," she said, softly, not wanting to frighten him.

He turned to her, his usually dark, unfeeling eyes full of the pain that had so covered his heart. "What's the point of loving someone if they can be taken away?"

She sighed softly, feeling as if her own agony at his pain was about to suffocate her. She felt for him, her heart went out to him…but she couldn't possibly even begin to fathom the depths of his words. She'd never, would never, see the things he'd seen.

She merely wrapped her arms around him. "I'm not going anywhere."

As she leaned in to kiss him, she glanced at him. He was smiling; just barely a whisper of the grin that used to highlight his face, but smiling nonetheless.  

She saw his face.

Katie woke with a start. _Cole. _Her breaths were short and abated. _It was him._

_Timeless, don't let it end._

_Now that you're right here in my arms_

_Where you should stay,_

_Hold tight baby._

_Timeless, don't let it fade out of sight._

_Just let the moment sweep us both away,_

_Lifting us to where we both agree,_

_This is timeless love._

He was her servant boy, her soldier…her Spot Conlon. Always unreachable, always unattainable, always somehow taken away. 

But Cole Conlon would forever be, whether he was a servant, a soldier, or a leader of Brooklyn, he would always be her all.

_'Cause I want it all,_

_Or nothing at all._

_'Cause I want it all._

**_El fin._**

**__**

**_{EndNotes}_**__

O my GOD! Almost a year after starting this huge, huge project, I am done! –dances!- No, it was fun. But O my gosh, am I proud of myself! What did you guys think? Review me with feedback, and go read my newest, "This is the Story you Wanted to Write."

Hopefully, sometimes BEFORE next year, I'll be celebrating the completion of that one!


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